


Titania Falling

by Zelda Ophelia (ZeldaOphelia)



Series: New York Crimes [2]
Category: CSI: New York
Genre: Crime, Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-05
Updated: 2009-05-04
Packaged: 2017-10-04 13:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 31,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZeldaOphelia/pseuds/Zelda%20Ophelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><b>Titania Falling<br/>Chapter 1</b> - <i>Crown her with flowers and make her all your joy</i></p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Crown her with flowers

**Author's Note:**

> **Titania Falling  
> Chapter 1** \- _Crown her with flowers and make her all your joy_

**Titania Falling  
Chapter 1** \- _Crown her with flowers and make her all your joy_

Summer was in full swing, the heat and humidity bearing down on the city like a thick, heavy blanket even at this time of day. For a moment, as she stepped out of the courthouse, Detective Stella Bonasera wished it wasn't considered unprofessional to wear something short and sleeveless while on the witness stand. Not that it would be any more appropriate to wear to a crime scene - at least the short part; sleeveless she could get away with - but it would be much cooler than her suit.

Brushing past the small crowd that had congregated on the courthouse steps, she headed straight to her SUV, where she cranked the air conditioning as high as it could go and peeled off her jacket. It was stifling hot inside, but even the lukewarm air coming from the vents was an improvement over outside. And, she reminded herself, the sooner she returned to the lab the sooner she'd be out of the heat and could grab something to eat since she'd skipped breakfast. Never had she more looked forward to paperwork. Her entire morning was free since her testimony hadn't taken nearly as long as anticipated.

The shrill ring of her cell phone filled the Avalanche just as she was about to pull out into traffic, not even five minutes after she'd turned it back on while leaving the courtroom. With a sigh, knowing she wouldn't be returning to the lab anytime soon, she fished it out of her pocket.

"Bonasera."

"It's Mac. Meet us at Central Park. Flack has a body for us in the Ramble."

::

Flack reached the end of the path just as Mac and Monroe were unloading their kits from their Avalanche. Another SUV - it looked like Stella was driving - pulled up behind it as they made their way over. Flack waited for her to join them before filling them in on the case, in part to be polite, but also to catch his breath - mentally vowing to increase his trips to the gym. Of course someone ihad/i to leave a body in the Ramble of all places. The walk to where they'd been told to park may have only been a quarter mile, but he'd walked it more times in this heat than he wanted to count so far. He felt a little sorry for Sid's assistants when it came time for them to remove the body; the path was long and anything but smooth. Brushing sweat from his forehead and very thankful he'd left his jacket in his car, he gave them what he knew so far while he led them to the scene.

"What have we got?" Mac asked as they followed him.

"Oh, you're going to love this. Apparently," he began, gesturing to the path in front of them, "someone threw a party in the Ramble, with Oberon and Titania on the guest list. Only Titania didn't make it back to Fairyland."

"Wow, Flack. Shakespeare. Do you always pull that out to impress people?" Monroe teased him.

"C'mon Monroe. Didn't everyone have to read _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ for class at some point?"

"Oh, so you didn't read it on your own?" She grinned at him as she continued, "I'm crushed."

"Yeah, yeah."

He shook his head with a smirk of his own. Monroe knew full well that he'd only just reread the play last fall. She'd spotted it while he was in the break room waiting for some results on a case. It had turned into a surprisingly long discussion about the play. Reading was something he'd picked up again after the bombing, a necessity upon realizing that even _he_ could only watch so much Sports Center. And no one was ever going to know about his brief addiction to Daytime TV.

He glanced back over his shoulder to where Mac and Stella were following. They were deep in discussion about something - most likely her court case this morning. He was actually rather surprised to see her; from what she'd said yesterday, it had sounded like she would be in court all day. He wondered if her getting out earlier than planned was a good thing or a bad thing.

"So, why the hike?"

"Hm?" He turned back to Monroe.

"Why the hike to the scene? With other cases here we've been able to drive right up."

"It seems that the conservancy put in new sod. Thanks to the heat and lack of rain, they're worried about it getting ruined if anyone drives over it."

"Their _grass_ is more important than a murder?" He glanced over at her, raising an eyebrow at the incredulous look on her face. "Right. The Chief doesn't want to annoy the Conservancy who'll go to the Mayor's office who'll say something to the Commissioner who'll take it back to the Chief. Politics."

"Got it in one. Which means we get our exercise," he said as they reached the urban forest that made up the Ramble.

A swarm of uniformed officers moved in and out of the trees, securing the crime scene. He nodded at Jenkins and Russ, who were at the trailhead, as he led the CSIs further down the path. There, in a small clearing deep within the Ramble, trees were covered with tiny, bright fairy lights. Garlands of sheer pastel fabrics were draped on the trees and a decorated flower arbor found at the far end. A picnic table, liberated from another area of the park, most likely, was set with the remains of a rather remarkable feast: several platters of hors d'oeuvres, some small finger sandwiches, fruit trays, and, of all things, a chocolate fondue fountain - still running - that had attracted the attention of some of the local wildlife. Another table was set nearby covered with liquor, beer, wine, and champagne bottles.

But the main attraction was off to the side, by the gaudily and grotesquely decorated garden arbor. Flack wrinkled his nose as he glanced at it before looking to the ground, where the body of a young woman lay sprawled in the grass. She was wearing what had to be a costume - a dark pink medieval-style dress with, of all things, matching translucent wings on her back. A circlet of roses lay nearby, ribbons attached to it matching those in her blond hair. A fairy princess even in death.

"Is that a dead fairy?" Stella asked, staring at the body.

Flack nodded. "So, one of the Park Services guys came out this morning and got all curious about why there were extension cords running here into the woods. Some of those big, orange heavy duty cords that aren't hard to miss and definitely hadn't been here yesterday." He pointed at the cords in question as he continued. "So he follows them here and boom. Dead fairy. Called 911 and here we are. He's over there, talking with Officer Wilson."

Mac, kneeling near the body to get a better look, glanced over at Flack. "Boom? You really have been around Danny too much. Any ID?"

"Nope. Titania is officially a Jane Doe. Guy who found her said she looks familiar, but he doesn't know who she is."

"He's right," Stella said, looking at the vic's face. "She does seem familiar. I don't know where, but I've seen her around before."

Mac nodded, filing away that information. "Lindsay, you get pictures," he said. "Stella if you don't mind starting with the table, I'll take the body."

"Fine, but you owe me one," Stella said as she opened the kit they'd brought for her. She may have been hungry earlier, but the sight off all that food, sitting out all night and covered with bugs, just made her stomach churn.

"And I'll go talk with our witness, Mr. Scott. See if he has anything else for us," Flack said, pulling out and flipping through his notebook. "Though as far as information goes, he doesn't have much. He 'just found the body'." He made air quotes with his fingers as he repeated what the witness told him.

After he left, a uniformed officer with mocha skin and curly hair pulled back in a bun joined them to help keep an eye on the scene. This was hardly an ideal location for keeping the crime scene secure, Stella thought to herself. Anyone familiar with the urban forest or with a good sense of direction could make their way in through the trees. Add in the fact that it was an election year, and the mayor had been touting how Central Park had been cleaned up, it wasn't that surprising there were officers all over the place. Or that Flack had sent Wilson to watch their backs.

A nod from Lindsay, and Stella started processing the tables while the other CSI started taking pictures of the body and surrounding area for Mac. There were napkins, cups, and plates everywhere - whoever had had the foresight to bring the picnic table hadn't thought to grab a trashcan as well - making her job both easier and harder. There had been a lot of people at this party from the looks of it, and there was a lot of evidence to examine, but there would be plenty of DNA and fingerprints to sift through as well. And Stella always preferred more to less.

"Huh," she said lifting one of the cocktail plates the partiers had been using. It looked like china - she even recognized the pattern from her last trip through Barneys - but it was plastic, like the high-end stuff used at outdoor weddings. Holding it up for Lindsay and Mac to see, she rapped her knuckles against the plate.

"Plastic?" Lindsay asked with a frown, recognizing the pattern as well. "Who goes to the trouble of getting such realistic _plastic_ plates just for a picnic?"

"Someone with money to spare," Wilson muttered under her breath. She then looked embarrassed, a blush crossing her dark cheeks, when all three of the CSIs turned to look at her. "Sorry, detectives, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Whoever threw this party," Mac said, bagging a piece of evidence near the body, "did a lot of planning. And someone had access to drugs." He held up the bag, showing a small square of paper.

"A drug party? Why go to the extremes with the decorations?" Stella asked. "And these aren't cheap plastic plates; they're based on a Dibbern pattern - we're talking real bone china with gold leaf, and while these may be plastic, they had to have come with a designer price as well. Same with the champagne flutes - they're identical to a set I've seen before."

"One of the Kim Seybert's collections," Lindsay provided. "They were on display with the plates at Barney's last month. Absolutely beautiful together, but just one full place setting cost more than my first car." Catching Mac's look, she continued, "They went on my million dollar list."

Wilson opened her mouth as if to say something, then promptly shut it again. Glancing at the decorations around the clearing, she looked back to see all three CSIs watching her.

"Go on," Mac said, studying her intently as Flack rejoined them.

"I don't know about the plates or flowers or the rest of it, but that fabric isn't cheap." She pointed at the garland decorating the clearing. "My mom's a seamstress, custom gowns and the like. And that, that stuff over there," she pointed as she spoke, "that's silk organza, taffeta, and possibly, I didn't get a good look, some tulle over there."

"Silk organza can easily set you back at least $15 a yard," Lindsay said.

"From what I've seen of some of it, this is the good stuff, which can easily run double or triple that price. Figure in the amount of fabric and there could easily be several hundred dollars' worth of fabrics up there." She shrugged, uncertain of herself, then continued. "Another thing- I may be wrong, but I think that dress might be custom made."

"You think so?" Mac asked, not looking up from his observation of the body.

"I think..." She paused, nervously plucking at her uniform sleeve. "That fabric is too high quality, and the fit is too good for it to be off the rack, you know? It just reminds me of something my mother would make for one of her clients."

"Good observation. Some of these seams look hand-stitched. With a costume as unique as this, we may be able to ID our Jane Doe through her tailor."

Wilson nodded, eyes wide, before heading back in the direction Flack had returned from.

"You certainly made her day," he said as he joined them in the clearing.

"She did possibly save us valuable time," Mac carefully pointed out as he placed bags over the victim's hands. "Now we have information that we may not have determined until we started examining the evidence in the lab."

Monroe had finished with her pictures and was helping Stella process the table, Flack noticed. "You know she's taking night classes, finishing her bachelors in chemistry or something else science-y."

Mac looked up, eyebrow raised. "No, I didn't know, and I'm impressed you did."

"Hey, I like to know who I'm working with." He shrugged as he said that, ignoring Lindsay's snort behind him. He never should have congratulated her on getting her paper published. Otherwise she wouldn't have known he'd read every single one of the HR newsletters available while he was laid up. Or that he continued to read them each month when they came out.

"So." He changed the subject back to the task at hand. "What's the verdict? How'd Titania die?"

"There aren't any obvious wounds, though the dirt and grass on the dress, as well as the matted grass around her, suggest she may have been in a scuffle."

"Someone wrestled her to death? In that outfit?"

"No signs of strangulation or petechial hemorrhaging," Mac pointed out. "We'll have to wait for Sid to examine the body."

"Great." Stella sat back on her heels, looking over at them. "So how do you kill a fairy?"

"Iron," Mac said. "But that's not what killed her."


	2. They who unfold both heaven and earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Titania Falling**  
> **Chapter 2** \- _They who unfold both heaven and earth_

**Titania Falling**  
**Chapter 2** \- _They who unfold both heaven and earth_

"A swim club?" Danny groused as they gathered their kits from the back of the SUV. "Who kills someone at a swim club?"

"A diving club," Angell corrected from behind them. Behind her, at the building entrance, a man stood wringing his hands, and she gestured in his direction. "Don't let him hear you call it a swim club or you'll get a 15 minute lecture on the history of diving."

"I take it you're speaking from personal experience?" Hawkes said, grinning, as she led them into the building.

"Don't make me regret warning you," she retorted, showing them down the hallway, past the locker rooms and into the natatorium. "The DB's over here," she said as they entered the room with the large diving pool. "Mr. Hempel, the director, found it when he came in this morning."

"Not what he was expecting, huh?" Danny said as they walked past the showers and hot tubs towards the pool.

"Not exactly," Angell said as she glanced at them. "There's a reason I requested Hawkes on this one."

"I'm honored," they reached the edge of the pool, where Angell pointed down. "I think... Is that what I think..."

Below them, at the bottom of the empty pool well, lay a mangled body. Angell observed Hawkes and Messer's expressions as they took in the scene.

"Oh, great. At the bottom of the pool?" Danny asked, turning to her. "You know, the last I checked April first was a few months ago."

"Don't look at me," she said, her hands up at shoulder height as if to placate him. "I didn't put him there."

"Oh, it's real, all right," Hawkes said as he climbed down to examine the body. "Definite signs of high velocity impact. Why wasn't there any water in the pool? That probably would have saved him."

"The club has been closed for the last two weeks to resurface the pools. It was supposed to open tomorrow, thus Mr. Hempel's stopping by to check on things and to begin refilling them."

"Was the place locked when he arrived?" Danny asked, pulling out his camera to begin taking pictures of the scene.

"Tight as a drum. And he says he always double checks the locks when he leaves for the day. He's positive the doors were locked last night." She checked the notes from her interview with Mr. Hempel. "A few select members have keys, but they all knew it was closed for renovations. I've got a list of names; I'll check and see if they all still have their keys and where they were at TOD."

"There's no ID on the body," Hawkes said, rocking back on his heels as he looked up at them, "and the cranial trauma is going to make identification difficult if he doesn't have fingerprints on file."

"Great, just great. We have a human pancake with no ID in the middle of an empty swimming pool." Danny spun in a slow circle, looking around the entire natatorium. "Suicide?"

"Could be." Angell brushed her bangs from her face. "We can't rule it out just yet. At the same time, most people who commit suicide don't leave loose ends. There would be a suicide note."

"Or at least some ID," Hawkes said, agreeing with her. "And this is an odd place for a jumper. Most go for buildings, tall buildings, or bridges, not closed diving pools. Most people wouldn't even consider this place."

"Which suggests that if this was a suicide, he chose this place for sentimental reasons. But the director didn't recognize him."

Danny snorted, nodding at the body. "What's to recognize?"

"Hair color, height, body type, and structure," Hempel answered from the doorway. "I was stunned to see him down there and ended up with a much better look than I would have liked. He is much leaner than most of our divers of similar height. And _none_ of my divers would enter the pool area in anything other than clothing appropriate for diving."

Angell ignored the pointed look he gave her. He may have included a few snide remarks about her dress in his earlier tirade, but the captain had yet to say anything about her causal style. And she wasn't going to sweat it until he did. The good thing about being a uniform had been just that, the uniform, and she'd poured every extra dime at the end of the month into paying off student loans. She was years ahead in payments, but her wardrobe hadn't been the most professional when she'd received her early promotion to detective. She'd started to slowly add bits and pieces, but she wasn't going to break her bank account unless the Captain mentioned it. Clothing didn't make the detective.

"Perhaps he was a past member?" she asked as she headed over to join him at the door, planning to shepherd him back out of the room. Hawkes and Messer had an ugly scene to deal with; they didn't need this guy getting in the way.

"Nosy, isn't he?" Danny commented as he put the camera away.

"Or concerned about what occurred here and the potential impact it could have on the club," Hawkes pointed out. "Regardless, he does have a point. Our vic isn't wearing a standard bathing suit, much less a typical diving suit. That diver who committed suicide in Oklahoma was wearing the suit she trained in."

"Typical diving suit?" Danny asked, pulling a bag from his kit to collect some trace. "Don't tell me they have special suits just for diving. Don't they just wear speedos?"

"Just like with the suits top swimmers wear, the idea is to be more aerodynamic and have less friction with the air and water." Pointing at what the deceased was wearing, he continued, "I'd say, if this was a suicide, that he knows enough about diving to wear something that is more aerodynamic even if it isn't considered proper attire."

"Maybe he couldn't afford a fancy suit. Maybe he was having money troubles - could be a reason for suicide."

"Could be. But we won't know until we ID him."

"Hempel is going to get me a list of past members and staff," Angell said as she rejoined them. "He showed me around the rest of the facility, nothing else seems to have been disturbed. All of the offices are still locked. It looks like our friend only came in here."

"Not even a change of clothes?" Danny motioned to the spandex shorts and tank their db was wearing. "We may be having record temperatures, but I just don't see him walking around in that. Unless he left his bike outside?"

"No bike," Angell said, "I already checked. And no signs that there was one that's been stolen."

"Then there's a possibility his clothes are missing, which suggests someone else was involved.

"And they could be either our witness or our murderer."

::

"Catching up on your reading?" Lindsay asked, sliding into the break room chair opposite his. He had offered to wait for her to print off copies of the pictures of the vic and her dress when they had returned from the scene. He had settled in at one of the tables, a cup of coffee (thick and bitter - Mac had made the latest batch) and newspaper in front of him.

"Nah." He flipped the folded newspaper around so she could see. "Crossword. I'd ask you for a five letter word meaning 'blood of the gods', but I'm guessing you have something for me."

She passed the file folder she was holding across the table. "Pictures of the dress, including close-ups of some of the detail work. Hopefully our vic's dress maker will be able to recognize her own work. I also have a picture of Titania in there, just in case you get really lucky."

"If they're on the list," Flack said absently as he flipped through the photos. He didn't know tulle from organza from cotton; it all just looked like a bunch of pink to him. "Wilson listed the ten most popular shops in Manhattan. I looked it up: there are over a hundred within the city. We're making a gamble that she went to someone here in Manhattan just because she was found in the Park."

"So what you're looking for may not be on the list." She frowned at the thought of the setback that could be, then reached across and patted his hand sympathetically. "I'm sure you'll think of something."

"Thanks, Monroe. Your confidence in me is overwhelming." He rolled his eyes at her as he flipped the folder shut and stood, tossing his styrofoam cup in the garbage. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to go hit the pavement. See if I can shake anything loose."

"Ha ha." It was her turn to roll her eyes at his jokes as he headed for the elevator. "Good luck."

He waved over his shoulder, looking back through the photographs again while walking. She didn't need to say that the sooner they ID'd their Jane Doe, the closer they'd be to figuring out what had happened. With a sigh, she pulled his half finished crossword in front of her. Stella wasn't back with the arbor yet; she could take a few minutes.

What _was_ a a five letter word for 'blood of the gods'?

::

Dr. Sid Hammerback carefully removed the paper bags covering the victim's hands. After carefully scraping under her fingernails, he set the petri dish with the contents aside to continue. Time seemed to stand still around him as he painstakingly bagged her clothing and began his examination of her body. Debris combed from her long blond hair was added to another bag, and swabs were used to collect samples of what he suspected were patches of mud. Photographs were taken at every point in the autopsy, from the moment she was first laid out on the table through the washing of her body, and continuing as he made the first incision of the Y-cut. Careful notes were taken as well through out the process, which he was just finishing as the door to autopsy opened.

"Ah, Mac, just in time," Sid said, looking up from the body of the dead fairy. "I was about to call you."

"Do you have a cause of death?"

"I have something interesting. It reminds me of a time, back in my younger days-"

"Sid," Mac interrupted, "do you know the cause of death?"

"We'll have to wait on her tox screening to know exactly." Sid folded back the sheet covering her. "I'm not really certain what killed her, other than massive organ failure. It appears that she partook of some LSD while at the party." Using the video wand that transmitted to the screen near the exam table, he showed Mac the unicorn shape on the roof of her mouth. "I've seen that blotter shape come through here before. Otherwise she is a very healthy individual, but something caused her organ failure."

"Organ failure? What could cause organ failure in someone her age? Drugs?"

"Most common reason would be due to illness, but as I said she's very healthy. There isn't an sign that she used drugs regularly, though I can't rule that out without the tox report."

"Well, can you at least tell me the time of death?"

"No."

"No?" Mac repeated questioningly, giving Sid an incredulous look.

"No, I'm afraid I can't at this time." Sid gestured to the body. "Our young Titania was running a temperature of 95° at the scene."

"Body temperature drops at about 1.5 degrees per hour, which suggests that she'd barely been dead an hour, maybe two - she died late this morning, not overnight."

"Except--" Sid lifted the girl's eyelids. "I also observed at the scene that her corneas were cloudy."

"She was found on the scene with her eyes closed. It would take nearly three hours for that to develop. It is the hottest day on record so far for the year - that may have prevented her body from cooling at the usual rate."

Sid shook his head. "She was also experiencing rigor when she was discovered; not full rigor but it was setting in."

"Which begins to set in after six to eight hours, depending on environmental temperature," Mac said, thinking out loud. "Suggesting that she did die early this morning. But how was her body temperature so high?"

"Like you said, today's temperature has been the highest recorded so far this year, but it did cool off some last night. So it wasn't high enough to cause this much of a difference at the time she died. No, I think her organ failure is the clue here. I believe Titania was running a fever - a high fever - at the time of her death. But since I have so much conflicting evidence, I've sent vitreous fluid off for a potassium test. It'll take more time, but we'll get a more accurate time of death that way."

"Her temperature had to be high, then Sid. We're talking about over 104 degrees, not your garden variety fever."

"Actually, 106° is where the risk for brain death begins. But the question is how did a vibrant young woman at what appeared to be a party manage to die of hyperthermia? Did no one notice?"

"They noticed all right," Mac said, looking down at the body. "That's why they all ran."


	3. Find the concord of this discord

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Titania Falling**  
> **Chapter 3** \- _Find the concord of this discord_

**Titania Falling**  
**Chapter 3** \- _Find the concord of this discord_

Adam carefully emptied the first of the boxes of evidence that Lindsay had brought back from the scene, spreading it out on the light table before starting to sort it. She had offered to help with it once she had printed the photographs for Flack, but he had declined. While help was nice, he had a system down for huge influxes of evidence like this. It was easiest to just sort it out on his own, get it the way he liked it, and then call her back to start processing a section. Besides, she had said something about helping Stella start processing the arch she had brought back from the scene. As far as he was concerned, she could help out with that thing all she wanted; he was glad he didn't have to deal with it. He didn't even want to know who's idea it had been to cover one of those garden arbor things with those creepy little ceramic fairy dolls. That thing had given him the heebie geebies when he'd seen them taking it to the other lab. It took a sick mind to come up with something like that.

"Now that looks like fun."

Adam glanced up to see Danny and Hawkes returning from their scene. "It's no as bad as it-" He glanced back at the mountain of evidence he still had to sort, then over to their small box. "-Actually, it is as bad as it looks. Lots of stuff to go through."

"It's better than not having anything. Is that from a party of some kind?" Hawkes asked as he started filling out the paperwork for the evidence they'd brought back. They'd start processing it after they had created a record of everything.

"Costume party in the park, from the looks of the victim." He shrugged, then said, "I wasn't at the scene, but I saw the pictures when Lindsay printed them out for Flack. She was dressed as a fairy princess, but no ID. So Flack is trying to track down who she is."

"A fairy princess?" Danny asked, incredulously. He turned to Hawkes. "They get a dead fairy princess, and we get pancake guy in a swimming pool. Angell _owes_ us."

"It's not that exciting," Mac interrupted from the doorway. "Sid can't even give us a cause or time of death right now. What's this about a DB in a pool?"

"Our case - Angell requested the doc here because our vic looked more like he'd taken a 100-story plunge than the 80 feet he fell at the most - and that's assuming he found a way to get to the rafters. We still don't know why he was in a swimming pool, or even it if was a suicide."

"Diving pool," Hawkes corrected. "He was wearing an approximation of some of the new specialized training suits on the market, which suggests he knew what he was doing. But there was no ID nor a suicide note."

"Angell's tracking down members of the club right now. She also mentioned talking to former members and employees of the club." Danny shrugged, running his hand over the top of his head. "If we could account for how he got there, I'd say it was suicide, but the place was locked up and there weren't any keys on him. There wasn't anything on him other than his exercise clothes."

"So someone else may have been there with him and locked the door when they left," Mac reasoned aloud. "That suggests foul play."

"Exactly," Hawkes agreed, pushing the form over for Danny to double check and sign. "Either way it's a suspicious death, so it gets treated like a homicide until we know otherwise."

"What does Sid have to say?"

"I'm on my way down right now."

Mac nodded as Hawkes left the lab. It looked like they had two odd deaths on their hands.

::

Flack paused outside of the small storefront that was the next shop on his list. He had already visited five so far, and he was really hoping that this wasn't going to be another dead end. There hadn't been a fairy-like costume in sight; in fact, costumes in general had been fairly sparse at the other shops he'd visited. Pushing the door open, he took note of the shop as he stepped inside. It was very beige. That was his first impression, followed by the realization that it was a very long and narrow store, which made it much larger than it looked from the outside. The blond wood flooring actually seemed to be real hardwood instead of laminate, and there was a small seating area near the front with chairs and a sofa that actually looked comfortable. This was definitely a step up from the last place, which looked like it had been wallpapered with paisley fabrics, and the air had been heavy with a cloying perfume. Actually, he could have sworn that one had a cat--he'd never sneezed so much in his life. A short young woman with a name tag that said Trisha looked up from a cutting table covered with a rich maroon fabric to greet him.

He flashed his badge, much to her obvious annoyance. "Another one? You'll need to talk to Emery; she's in charge here. This is her shop."

"Another what?" Flack asked as he followed Trisha back to the office, where his question was answered for him. There in the office was Angell, taking notes as she spoke with a woman digging through her desk drawer. It sounded like they were finishing up.

"Just as I said, Detective, my key to the building. Obviously I haven't given it to anyone else, and I have no idea who the man that died there is." Emery, according to the shop assistant, flipped her hair off shoulders with a huff and continued, "Is there any word on when the club will reopen? I've been forced to put my training on hold. It was supposed to open tomorrow, you know. This is a horrible inconvenience."

"I understand, ma'am. And thank you for your help." Angell shook her hand and offered her card before turning to head out the office door. She seemed almost as surprised to see him standing in the doorway as he had been to see her there. She stopped to talk briefly. "Hey Flack. Did your case bring you here also?"

"Yeah." He showed her the picture he was carrying. "We're looking for the maker of this dress. You?"

"One of the key holders to the diving club in my case." She glanced back over her shoulder, then nodded in the direction of the overstuffed chairs at the front. "We can talk when you're done."

Giving Angell a grin in agreement, he entered the office where Emery was standing behind her desk. "Ma'am? I'm Detective Flack of the NYPD. I need to ask you a few questions."

"More? Didn't that girl just ask everything? You aren't playing good cop, bad cop, are you?"

"No, ma'am. Different cases." He opened the file Lindsay had given him, pulling out and handing her a photograph of the dress. She took the photograph and examined it carefully with a look of distaste on her face. "We're trying to find the maker of that dress."

"Did they commit a crime?" she asked, gingerly holding the picture between her thumb and forefinger as she offered it back. "Other than crimes against humanity in the form of their horrible taste?"

He had to bit the inside of his cheek to hide his amusement, inwardly agreeing with the tailor's assessment of the outfit. He had been lucky - his sister had never gone through a fairy princess phase. It looked like their vic hadn't grown out of hers. "No, ma'am. The person wearing this passed away, however they didn't have any identification. Since this appears to have been custom made, we're hoping we can ID her that way."

"How awful. Two deaths in such a short period of time. It's just horrible." She sat down heavily in her chair, her elbow on the arm and resting her forehead against her hand. She motioned with her other hand for him to take a seat before continuing with a deep sigh. "Well, it isn't one of my dresses. I designed my share of fairy costumes for that party - I'm assuming it was a party, there was supposed to be one sometime this week - but I drew the line and put my foot down at such _pedestrian_ costumes as this. Can you believe that one young woman wanted me to base a costume for her off of the Waterhouse Hamadryad painting? I wanted to ask her just where she planned to hide the other half of herself, in the tree? Instead I sent her away. I heard later, from another customer, that she went to that so-called 'Manhattan Costuming' on 29th. Or maybe it's on 25th. Well, I've never needed to know. It does have a rather distinctive style, I've seen other dresses by this dressmaker."

"Do you know who was responsible for the party?" he asked, adding the name of the other shop in his notebook. He could call the switchboard to get the address.

"None of my customers." Emery worried at her lower lip with her teeth. "But I believe it was a birthday part of sorts. And whomever's birthday it was, she obviously had money."

"Perhaps one of your customers would know? One who got a fairytale-styled dress?" Flack suggested. "I'll need a list of those as well."

"Trisha can get a copy for you." Emery stood, brushing her short dark hair back from her face. She looked tired, but determined. "But I really must get back to work now. I'm going to be so far behind schedule because of these interruptions."

"Of course. Thank you, ma'am." He held his card out to her. "And if you think of anything else, please contact me.

She spoke quietly with Trisha while he joined Angell at the front of the shop, stifling a groan as he sat in the deep chair. Angell gave him an amused look.

"Let me guess - out all morning tracking down a slim lead?

"On the nose." He tipped his head back against the chair cushion, taking a quick moment to rest his eyes. "You?"

"Pretty much the same."

He could hear her soft sigh of frustration and looked over at her. "You have a John Doe, right?"

She nodded, looking back down at her list. "We aren't even sure how he got into the building. So I'm searching down keys while Messer and the Doc work their magic. This is one more key accounted for, and there aren't many left on the list to check."

"I take it that Emery wasn't much help."

"Unfortunately, no. Did she have anything for you?"

"I've got names coming, though none are likely be the vic. But she may have recognized where the dress came from." He shrugged, stretching out his legs in front of him. "It's more than I had when I walked in."

Their conversation was interrupted when Trisha arrived with the names and addresses for him. They both rose as he accepted the papers. "Thank you, Trisha."

She flashed them a brilliant smile before returning to her workstation as they headed out the door, a blast of hot air hitting them hard as they stepped onto the sidewalk. As soon as it closed behind them, Angell was teasing him. "You know, Don, I think she liked you."

"You sure she wasn't flirting with you?" he asked her with a grin.

"Didn't you hear, Don? There's a new theory floating around the precinct."

They stopped by his car, which was right out in front of the shop. As he leaned against it, he spotted hers further down the street. "Oh really? What's that?"

"Why, Detective Flack." She stepped forward, brushing an imaginary speck of lint from his lapel as she spoke, though her hand lingered longer than needed. "Word in the squad room is that all you need to do to get a suspect to talk is to just give them that smile of yours. Rumor has it you can flirt anyone into confessing everything."

"Is that so?" He laughed out loud, shaking his head in amusement. She stepped back out of his personal space when he looked up at her with a piercing gaze. "Shame they think that. There's really only one person I'm interested in flirting with."

Jess blushed, dipping her head. "Yeah, well, I've got to get going. More keys to find."

"Hey Jess," he called out as she started for her car. She turned back, head tipped quizzically to the side.

"Yeah?"

"Tomorrow, breakfast?"

"Sure." She grinned at him, then opened her door and stepped in. They both had information to track down.


	4. Come now, for a roundel and fairy song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Titania Falling  
> Chapter 4** \- _Come now, for a roundel and a fairy song_

**Titania Falling  
Chapter 4** \- _Come now, for a roundel and a fairy song_

Rock music blasted through the lab as Adam carefully sorted through the evidence at hand. Adding the last evidence bag to its proper stack, he stepped back to survey his work. The sheer amount of evidence was still almost overwhelming. Where to start? Actually, he knew the answer to that, the biologicals. A sample from the Jane Doe had already been sent to DNA, but it looked like there had been a bunch of people at that party. Maybe one of them was in the system. That would make their jobs a lot easier.

Moving his other stacks carefully out of the way, Adam began processing the cups. When Lindsay and Stella had processed them at the scene, they had been very careful to take a sample of the remaining liquid. Those samples, in small glass jars, had then been paired with the cups they'd come from in an evidence bag. He started with those by taking a sample of that liquid to prep. It could be run through the GC-MS - mass spectrometer - to determine just what everyone had been imbibing. He then swabbed the rim of the cup, hoping for DNA that could be tracked through the system - if they didn't get a hit on Titania, maybe they would on one of her guests. Then he dusted for prints that he could run through AFIS - the Automated Fingerprint Information System. It was more likely they'd find someone that way than with DNA, more were in the system, but it was best to save the prints for last. That powder got everywhere and could risk a false reading on some of the other tests.

He was just finishing the stack of cups when Lindsay returned, carry several evidence bags containing little fairy dolls. "Aw, man, don't tell me I have to do those, too."

"No," Lindsay said, laughing, "I'll do them. We've still trying to get them off that arbor without damaging them or any evidence that may be on them - they were well secured. But I told Stella I'd get a start on processing what we've removed so far."

"Good." Adam sighed in relief. "I've got enough with all this evidence here and --" He trailed off, muttering something under his breath with a shudder.

"What was that?" Lindsay asked, glancing his way as she set the bags down at her station.

"Hmm? What?" Adam looked at her, trying to pretend he hadn't heard her. She just raised an eyebrow, and he sighed; he needed a better poker face. "Those things are creepy."

"No they're no-" She glanced down at the light table as she spoke, looking at the small porcelain dolls lined up in a row, their big round eyes shining up at her, unblinking. She suppressed a shudder and said, "Maybe they are."

"You could help with this," Adam offered. "I'll be working on these cups for a while still. The silverware - err, utensils, I guess, since they aren't silver - is what I was going to work on next."

"Nah, I told Stella I'd get started on these. Some of these dolls are pretty unique, we might be able to get more information about what happened from them."

Lindsay opened the first bag, removing a tiny, intricate, ceramic fairy doll. She was dressed in a wispy, green silk tunic and over tunic with matching translucent wings. Like their victim, the doll also wore a tiny crown of flowers and ribbon. It was small enough to fit in the palm of her hand, yet every tiny detail was present, including a small speck of something metallic caught in her hair. Lindsay carefully removed and bagged the trace evidence, setting it aside as she continued her examination.

As Adam bopped around to his rock music, Lindsay carefully removed the fairy costume from the doll, piece by piece. Each article of clothing was carefully examined for trace evidence, like the hair had been, as well as fingerprints. She found a greasy smear on the doll's back and, unwrapping a swab, took a sample that would also be sent to trace. Finishing up her examination, she started processing the next doll.

Slowly she made her way through the pile of evidence, knowing that Stella would soon have more dolls from the arbor. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Adam finish processing the cups and begin with the utensils. Just as she started the last of her dolls, one of the techs came in with another batch. She handed him the trace samples, while Adam added a set of swabs to take down to DNA. Then, blaring rock music aside, the lab became quiet again as they both returned to their work.

::

Hawkes always felt a bit of nostalgia when he entered the autopsy lab. Oh, he loved his job as a CSI and wouldn't give it up, but part of him did miss it down here. Sid looked up from the x-rays he had been studying as the doors closed behind Hawkes and waved him over to a sheet-covered body.

"I just finished your John Doe. As opposed to the Jane Doe that came in earlier. Odd, having two unidentified corpses coming in back to back. You know, it reminds me of that time when--"

"Sid," Hawkes interrupted. "No offense, but we don't really have time for the creepy place."

"Why, Hawkes, whatever makes you think that I was--" Sid stopped, looked up at his old colleague, and grinned. "Well, I guess it could have been considered slightly inappropriate. Anyway, your victim died as a result of severe trauma to the head and upper neck. His skull was cracked in several places, and his spine was fractured between the C-1 and C-2 vertebrae. There was also significant fracturing to his both his radius and ulna, humerus, and scapula. In some ways, Danny has been rather correct in referring to your vic as 'pancake guy': there were very few bones in his upper body that weren't fractured in some way. Given the severity of the injuries, either he or what he hit was moving at a formidable speed."

"How formidable?"

"By my calculations? 40 miles per hour. At least."

Hawkes raised his eyebrows, impressed. "That's a good amount of speed for a fall."

"Lividity also suggests he died in the position he was found," Sid continued, pointing to where the blood had pooled in the body. "I found some flecks of dried blood and skin under his nails, which I've already sent up to DNA for Dr. Parsons. There were no antemortem scratches on the body that suggested it belong to him."

"There was no sign he had been moved at the scene, or that there had been a struggle." Hawkes added, shifting back on his heels to think. "You know, that isn't necessarily fatal impact speed."

"It is when you're going head first, which is what his injuries suggest." Sid handed him the folder with the autopsy report. "There are copies of the x-rays in there, in case you need to look over them. I also found evidence of past retinal and vitreous humor disease in his eyes. And some evidence of drug abuse."

"Yeah, that'll be helpful." Hawkes took the file, still mulling over the questions their DB raised as he left autopsy. "Thanks, Sid."

::

Danny was setting up at the light table when Hawkes reached the lab, going over what little evidence they already had. This included the clothing that Sid had already sent up - the spandex biking shorts and shirt their John Doe had been wearing when he died. He glanced up at Hawkes as he entered.

"I still don't get why they have special clothes for diving. What's the difference?"

"It's about the aerodynamics of the dive," he explained, pulling out an evidence bag Danny hadn't opened yet. "It's the same reason they shave off their body hair, to remove the added drag in order to try to execute a more perfect dive. What?"

He shot an amused glare over at Danny, who was shaking with laughter.

"How do you know so much about all of this?"

"I had a girlfriend who was a big fan of competitive diving. We watched quite a few televised diving meets together. It's actually a rather interesting sport; it has the grace of ballet and gymnastics, but in a very different medium."

"Yeah, yeah," Danny joked while he pulled the shorts closer to take a better look - there was something on them. "You were just trying to impress your girl. Ya know, I think I got something."

He dropped the trace - a small grey fiber - onto a slide and took it over to the microscope. "Here, take a look. Now that definitely doesn't match the clothes he was wearing."

"No, it doesn't," Hawkes said, using a pair of tweezers to turn it over. "It's triangular, suggesting a synthetic."

"Pretty much everything he was wearing was synthetic."

"But not grey; his clothes are black. Maybe he picked it up somewhere on his way in?"

"Please tell me you have something," Angell cut in from the doorway to the lab, looking more than a little frazzled for running around on such a hot day. "Because I've got jack."

"Nothing? Really?" Danny groaned, leaning against the lab bench.

"Every single key is accounted for. I spoke with everyone who has either worked at or been a member of the club in the past three years. No one recognized the description of our vic. Nothing. It's like he came out of thin air."

"Well, he was definitely real, as were his injuries," Hawkes said, then explained what Sid told him about the injuries down in autopsy.

"Great. So we have a John Doe, still, and we're not certain how he ended up there, still."

"At least we have time of death, likely sometime around 11 o'clock last night," Hawkes interjected. "You heard Mac; Sid couldn't even give him that much on his victim."

"Well, then we've got something," Danny groused.

"And we have our grey fiber." Pulling said fiber out from under the microscope, Hawkes took it back to the lab bench and carefully cut a small section off of it. "I'll run it through the mass spec to see exactly what it is. If we know what it was used for, we might find out where he got it."

"And I'm going to start in on missing persons," Angell said with a sigh. "There's a possibility that he's already been reported and we can get an ID."


	5. All with weary task fordone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Titania Falling  
> Chapter 5 -** _All with weary task fordone_

**Titania Falling  
Chapter 5 -** _All with weary task fordone_

Waves of heat rose from the sidewalk in front of him, seeming to distort the world after he stepped out of his car. With nine strikeouts from the list that Wilson had put together for him (excluding the near miss when he ran into Jess), he had decided to try the tailor shop Emery had suggested. He just hoped he had better luck here. His next step was to start on the list of customer names he had gotten. The sign proclaiming the location of Manhattan Costuming was just down the street, a couple of young women coming out of the door below it. Flack nodded at them as he passed, opening the door they had just exited and entering the shop. Almost immediately he could feel his nose twitch with the beginnings of a sneeze.

There was a melodic chime as he crossed the threshold, and a middle-aged woman in a gauzy pastel dress approached him. "How may I help you? We have some lovely suiting that would be great with your eyes. And some of our newer designs would look just dapper on you."

With one hand covering his sneeze, he held his badge up with the other. Damn. Days like this were when he figured Grandad had a point about always carrying a handkerchief. A tissue appeared in front of him, which he gratefully accepted

"Oh. Well, then." She puffed her hair with her hand before folding her hands across her chest. "How may I help you, detective?"

"Do you recognize this dress?" he asked, holding a picture out for her to look at. At this point he'd seen it so many times he could recreate the pink dress from memory.

"No? Should I?" she asked, handing the photo back with a look of disinterest.

"It is a part of an ongoing investigation. Did you recently create any 'fairy dresses' for a customer? Especially anyone who may have attended a themed party recently?"

"As a matter of fact, yes."

"I'll need a list of those customers', names and addresses."

"And I'll need a warrant." She tossed her hair, body language taking on a defensive posture to match her tone. "My customers expect a reasonable amount of privacy. That includes not invading said privacy without good reason. And a warrant is good reason."

"And murder isn't?"

"And now you're trying to guilt me into giving you the information, Detective. I won't go against my shop's policy; it sets a bad precedent. Come back with a warrant and I'll have that list waiting for you."

"Don't worry, one of my people will be by shortly with that warrant."

He gave her a cheerful smile, not letting his annoyance show until he was back out on the street. With a sigh, he pulled out his phone, groaning when he saw the time displayed. It was nearly 2:00 pm, which explained why his stomach had been growling. Grabbing a packet of crackers from the glove box - he'd learned early on not to keep candy on hand during the summer - Flack reviewed his options. He had a few names of people who may have been at the party, but there may have been more than one "fairy party" for all they knew. He hoped not, but he'd learned the hard way a long time ago not to assume anything about this city. Until they had ID'ed the vic, they needed all the names they could get. He started by calling ADA Bloomfield; they'd worked together before, and Bloomfield owed him a few favors after their last game of hoops. As far as Flack was concerned, anyone from the DA's office who was up for a pick-up game of basketball with a bunch of cops was just fine.

His next step was to arrange for the warrant to be served. His call to the squad room was answered by a slightly familiar voice.

"Yeah, this is Flack. Who is this?" He balanced his phone between his shoulder and his ear, flipping through his notebook while walking back to his car. "Wilson? Just the person I was looking for. We need to get a warrant for customer records from Manhattan Costuming. She isn't going to give up the list of customers she made fairy costumes for without one. The ADA is already working on it- I'll let their office know you'll be doing the legwork. Just get it over to the place as soon as it's ready. Right now we have more dead ends on this case than useful information."

He hung up just as he reached his car, folding his long body into the drivers seat and immediately blessing whoever had invented air conditioning. The lukewarm air coming from the vent may have been far from cold, but it was still one hundred times better than it was outside. Letting the car idle while the air in the cabin cooled, he looked through his notebook to review his notes. So far he'd hit all of the major tailor shops on the list that Wilson had put together for him. She'd admitted there were a ton of self-employed tailors like her mother that she'd left off, as well as shops in other boroughs, but they'd both agreed that this list was a better place to start. They could get a list of those tailors if needed, but he also now had a short list of people who had attended a fairy themed event. Those might actually be a better bet. A tailor may not recognize another's work, but someone might remember someone else they saw at that party.

Most of the addresses on the list, unsurprisingly, were for posh Manhattan apartments and condos. Noting that several seemed to be in the same or adjacent buildings, he started in that direction first. He parked on the street in front of a building with two high rises of apartments connected at the entry, flashed his badge at the doorman, and made his way to the elevator. Taking the West Tower elevator, he began his interviews on the fifteenth floor. The woman who answered took one look at him and said, "We're not interested."

Flack stopped her before she could push the door shut, holding up his badge. "I just need to ask you a few questions, ma'am."

"Then hurry. I have to get to an event tonight and my stylist is late and the stupid wings they just sent Do Not match my dress."

"Wings? Do you mean for a fairy-style costume?"

"What else? A bumblebee? It isn't Halloween, and I have more class than to show up looking like a Paris Hilton knockoff. Of course for a fairy costume - For the unveiling of the new Waterhouse acquisition at the museum." She looked at him and gave a scoffing sigh. "Not that you would know about new works of art at any of the city's museums."

He ignored her remark, reaching out to take the door handle. She wasn't going to be of any help if she hadn't been at the party. "Thank you, ma'am. That was all I needed."

"What? You didn't ask me anything!" He could hear the door slam behind him as he made his way to the stairs. Another name on his list was on the next floor up, and the stairs were closer, and likely quicker, than the elevator.

A young black man, maybe a few years older then Reed Garrett, Flack decided, answered the door marked 1641. He seemed a bit confused until Flack held up his badge, which he carefully inspected. "How may I help you, Detective?"

"Are you Zach Wilder?"

"No, I'm Jeremy Hudon, his roommate." he stepped aside, motioning for Flack to come in. "Zach's just in here."

Flack followed him through the entryway, past the living room and into the kitchen, where another young man was in the process of chopping vegetables for what looked like a stir-fry. He tried to pretend to be uninterested and that his mouth wasn't watering as Jeremy introduced him.

"So, whatcha need?" Zach asked, carefully placing the knife on the cutting board before washing his hands.

"You purchased a-" Don checked his notes "-faun costume from an Emery Ley at Studio Vienna last week?"

"Yeah. There aren't a lot of male characters in fairy literature or art, and I figured most everyone else would be dressed as Puck." Zach motioned towards the back of the apartment as he spoke,."Is something wrong?"

"Was it for a fairytale-themed party last night?"

"Well, technically." Zach looked a little nervous, but Jeremy just rolled his eyes and broke in.

"Technically we're going to the museum tonight for the unveiling of some new artwork. But when we were there for the last fitting, we ran into a friend who mentioned a party last night. I guess you could say we crashed it - I mean, Bradley invited us, but I don't think he was one of the people responsible for the party."

Flack nodded. "Does Bradley have a last name?"

"Miller. He's not in trouble, is he?" Jeremy asked, his eyes wide as he leaned back against the kitchen counter.

"Not at this time, though that may change." Flack stifled a groan; he didn't even want to think of how many Bradley Millers lived in the city. "Did you know anyone else at the party?"

"Not really. We only know him because we go to the same gym. He was surprised to see us at the tailor's, and I think he thought we had been invited to that party." Zach opened the refrigerator and pulled out some sauces - homemade considering the lack of labels. "Then, you know, sorta invited us after mentioning the party, because he felt obligated."

"Since he had said something, I don't think he wanted us to feel left out," Jeremy continued, grabbing a bowl down from a cabinet.

"We didn't stay long. It started out fun, then it went downhill." Zach tossed the vegetables he'd been chopping in the bowl Jeremy offered, and then poured a small amount of the sauce over it. Flack could smell the spices and heat from where he stood. "Drugs. And once they showed up the heavies showed up. We didn't want to get caught crashing the thing."

"Plus we have the opening tonight. We wanted to get plenty of rest, and someone spilled red wine on Zach's costume. We needed to get it rinsed before the stain set."

"Did you stay long enough to see this woman?" Flack handed over the picture of Titania, noting that both men started nodding immediately.

"Yeah, she was there," Zach said, pointing at the picture, "wasn't she, Jer? I swear I remember her dancing under that freaky arbor."

Jeremy shuddered. "I had nightmares about that thing. She was there. I think she was the guest of honor. Her birthday, maybe?"

"You don't happen to have a name, do you?"

"Nah." Jeremy shook his head. "She looks familiar, like I've seen her around before, but I couldn't tell you what her name is. Is she- is she dead?"

"Found this morning in the park."

"Man, that sucks, dying on your birthday like that."

"You know, I think she lives here." Zach wiped his hands before picking up the picture to look closely. "Not here, here, but in the other tower, maybe? I know that there's a chick in the other building that was there as well, but I think I've seen her in the lobby before. Or maybe they're just friends and she comes visiting."

"Your friend, Bradley Miller - do you have a phone number or address for him?"

"Um..." both men looked a little embarrassed as Zach answered, "No, we just know him through the gym."

"Okay. What gym was that?" If they could give him the gym, he might be able to convince Bloomfield to get another warrant. He needed to check in, anyway, and see if Wilson had gotten that list of names from Manhattan Costuming yet.

"Redmonds. Just a couple blocks down the street. We like it because it's close."

"Thanks, guys." Flack pulled out a card and handed it to them. "If you can think of anything else, it would be appreciated."

"Wait." Zach tapped his hand against his forehead. "I can't believe I didn't remember until now. Bradley had a video camera. That could be useful, right?"

Flack grinned, happy to finally get the slightest usable lead on the case. "Very useful."

After leaving them, he took the elevator back down to the lobby. He needed the other set of elevators to get to his next potential witness, but first, he decided, it would be prudent to call in. Wilson was fairly easy to reach; she had gotten the warrant and was about to head to Manhattan Costuming. After asking her to look up the contact information of the Bradley Miller Wilder and Hudon had mentioned, he turned to the second bank of elevators at the opposite side of the lobby. Up on the 20th floor of the East Tower lived a Vivienne Harlow, who had also purchased a fairy style costume and, from the sounds of it, had been at the party as well. Now it was time to find out if that was true.


	6. Where truth makes all things plain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Titania Falling  
> Chapter 6 -** _Where truth make all things plain_

**Titania Falling  
Chapter 6 -** _Where truth make all things plain_

While this building was considered to be one of the best addresses in Manhattan, the East Tower was definitely the nicer of the two. There were fewer, and presumably larger, apartments per floor. The hallways were wallpapered with a cream-and-gold baroque pattern, instead of the plain cream paint of next door, and he was certain each step sank a good half-inch into the thick carpeting. He could remember Devon talking about this building, how she had considered moving in but refused to live in the West Tower. Considering the differences between the two and knowing her, he wasn't surprised.

A young woman answered after his knock, opening the door far enough to peer out at him from below the chain. A strand of shoulder length brunette hair flopped into her face as she frowned at him. "Hello?"

"Detective Flack, NYPD. I'd like to ask you a few questions."

She nodded as he showed her his shield, closing the door far enough to undo the chain, then opening it for him.

"Is there something wrong?" she asked, wringing her hands, then quickly crossing her arms in front of her.

"Did you attend a fairy-themed costume party last night?"

"How'd you know?" she asked, eyes wide. "This isn't about using the park after hours, is it? I'll pay the fine, if there is one."

"You'll have to speak with the park conservancy about that. Do you know this woman?" He held up the picture of the vic, then dropped it as he barely managed to catch Ms. Harlow as her legs gave out from under her. "I take it that's a 'yes'."

"That's Ari," she said quietly, gripping his arm as she stood again and moved to sit on the couch in the living room just beyond the entrance. He followed her in, closing the door behind him. "She's my roommate. She-she's dead, isn't she? I mean, she looks dead there."

"Ma'am, I need you to tell me what happened at that party last night." Flack settled on the seat across from her.

"It was Ari's birthday yesterday. Ariana, technically - Ariana Hawthorne - but everyone called her Ari. Unless you were one of her parents; they always called her by her full name. She hated that." Vivienne shook her head. "Sorry, I'm rambling. Um-"

"Ariana Hawthorne?" he interrupted, recognizing the name as one Devon had mentioned from time to time when they were dating. "Any relation to Ralph Hawthorne?"

"He's her father."

He nodded. Ralph Hawthorne was a well-known philanthropist and a good friend of the mayor. That would explain why she had looked familiar to Stella: Ariana Hawthorne had been featured on Page Six more than once. Their murder had just become front page news. This was going to be a huge amount of added pressure, and everything they did would need to be checked and double-checked. Pushing that train of thought away (he could deal with it later), he motioned for Vivienne to continue.

"We had been planning this party for weeks. Derek - Ari's now ex-boyfriend, Derek Bennett - was supposed to get permission to use the park. Ari is this huge fan of fairy tales and fairy pictures and, well, you know, everything to do with fairies. We thought this would be a great surprise for her. Then she and Derek broke up two weeks ago. We - Mark, my boyfriend, some friends from work, and I - continued planning. It was Ari's twenty-fifth birthday; it had to be special. We never considered that Derek wouldn't get the permits: he knew how important this surprise was." She sighed, running her hands through her hair as she sank back in the overstuffed couch. "When we realized what had happened, we decided to continue with our plans. If we got into trouble we'd pay the fine."

"When did you last see Miss Hawthorne?"

"At the party." Vivienne seemed to perk up a bit at the thought. "Ari was having a great time. Even though Derek and a bunch of other people we didn't know had crashed the party, she didn't care. She was... well, there was a lot of alcohol at the party, and we were all probably more than a little drunk, Ari included. Um, I left around midnight, I think it was, with Mark, and we went back to his place. I- I just figured that when Ari wasn't here when I returned this morning that she'd made up with Derek or gone home with one of the guys she was flirting with. I didn't think-"

She sniffled, reaching for a tissue from the box on the side table. "I'm sorry. It's just, she's my best friend, you know. And now she's gone."

"I understand, Miss Harlow. Do you know why Ari and Derek broke up?"

"Her father. Mr. Hawthorne didn't like Derek at all. He didn't think Derek was good enough for her. They'd fight every time Ari took him with her to her parents'. I think it just got to be too much for him, and he left." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "I guess that's part of why it didn't even cross my mind that he wouldn't get the permit- it was obvious he still really cared about her. He just couldn't handle her parents."

"You mentioned that there were other people involved in the planning?"

"Yes. Mark Coleman, my boyfriend, and Tina and Sophia from work. Both Ari and I work with them. Well, Ari worked with them. Um we-" She reached for another tissue, balling it up in her hand with the other when she had calmed down. "Ari and I met through work. We both work- worked at Kline and Associates. You see, her parents wanted her to work for a living and have a good head on her shoulders before she received her inheritance. She ihad/ito have a job after college, or she wouldn't get her trust. She was supposed to get it when she turned twenty-five. But she loved her job; she wasn't planning on quitting just because she got her inheritance."

"What kind of work do you do at Kline and Associates." He noted the name of the firm, planning to contact them to speak with Miss Hawthorne's boss in the morning.

"PR. Public Relations. Our firm mostly creates PR campaigns for our clients. We also plan events that are incorporated into the campaigns, especially for our non-profit clients. Kick-off events for fundraising drives and the like." Vivienne turned to look out the window, a myriad of emotions crossing her face. "Ari was a genius with it. She was up for a promotion at work, and man did she really want it. It was for the non-profits accounts. That was what she really wanted to do, build campaigns for non-profit organizations. She was very caring."

"Did she have any problems with colleagues at work?"

"Not that I know of. I mean, there was Kyle, but he bugged all the women at work. Everyone really liked her." Miss Harlow sniffled, dabbing at her eyes with her tissues. "Who- who is going to tell her parents?"

He kept his face impassive, but inwardly he grimaced. That - this - was the worst part of his job. It was worth it when he managed to get the perps off the street, but informing friends and family of the loss of a loved one? One of the hardest things he had ever done. And it was something that never got easier.

"We'll see to it that they are informed immediately."

"Okay." She looked down at her hands. "I-I just didn't want to do it. Is that horrible of me? I just don't think her dad ever really liked me that much, either. I don't think he'd like getting the news from me."

"We have people who have been specifically trained to work with grieving parents," he said as he stood and made a mental note to bring one of the counselors with him when he made that visit. "I'm going to need a list of everyone who was at that party - names and addresses."

She nodded and stood, walking over to produce some papers from the console in the entry, much to his surprise. "This was the guest list for the people we invited. There were others there who I know weren't on the list; they must have been invited by someone else." She caught his look and added, "Since it was a surprise for Ari, I figured the best place to hide the list was in plain sight. We keep our address and phone books in there, and if she asked I'd made a backup of the contact information on my Blackberry."

"Thank you, Miss Harlow. Here is my card, in case you think of anything else."

"Oh. Yes. Of course." She nodded as she accepted the card, placing it on the console before following him to the door.

"Thank you for your help."

"Anything for Ari."

The door shut quietly behind him, and he immediately dialed the lab. "Hey, Mac, we've got a name. Ariana Hawthorne. Yes, that Hawthorne family. I just spoke with her roommate."


	7. Titania Falling Speech like a tangled chain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Titania Falling  
> Chapter 7** \- _Speech like a tangled chain; nothing impaired, but all disordered_

**Titania Falling  
Chapter 7** \- _Speech like a tangled chain; nothing impaired, but all disordered_

"Apparently the unicorn blotter is the trademark of a dealer calling himself 'Picasso'."

"Let me guess - he's a _sensitive artiste_." Stella rolled her eyes as she spoke.

"I don't know about that, but Danny mentioned that he and Angell have dealt with him on another case."

"Do we know where to find him?"

"I did some checking, and he's recently switched to a new area, but Narcotics is pretty sure he's set up shop at Beach 16th." Lindsay handed her the information about Picasso. "They're bringing him in on something else, but Detective Carver said we could talk to him when they're done."

"Good. It's about time we found someone who is connected to that party."

Detective Carver was nearly finished with Picasso when they arrived at interview room three. He stepped into the observation room with them after leaving the interrogation. "You think he's your murderer?"

"Evidence of his drugs were found on her body," Stella explained, glancing over at the dealer - kid, really, she thought to herself - through the window. "But for all we know, someone else bought his product and took it with them."

"The ME only found evidence of one blotter in her mouth, so unless he's selling bad drugs or has expanded into something else, he most likely isn't responsible himself," Lindsay continued.

"Nah, we tested his stuff we confiscated. There's no way anyone would overdose on just one of his blotters." Carver shook his head.

"Did he have any other drugs on him?"

"Nah." He leaned back against the wall. "Just the blotters, and not many of them - just enough to get him for possession, not distribution. 'Sides, Picasso, he's not the type to go killing his customers. He's actually smart enough to realize that just leads to fewer customers."

"He doesn't have the stomach for it?"

"Upchucked his cookies like an 11-year-old girl when we showed him a picture of another dealer who'd been hit last year. Picasso'd been slowly moving into another dealer's turf and 'boom', the other guy's dead. Figured it had to be him. Turned out the dealer's partner decided he was sick of splitting the profits." He looked them over, gauging them somehow. "Here's the deal. We wouldn't have got the guy if Picasso hadn't helped. He's been listed as our CI since then."

"Still selling?"

"He couldn't get us what we need if he wasn't." Carver tipped his chin at the window. "He's been a good boy, keeping the amount of the shit he's putting on the streets low, but where he's cut back others have picked up the slack."

"Do you think he'll be straight with us?"

"He knows there are a couple of distribution charges that could come back on him if he isn't." He opened the observation room door for them. "He also knows that whatever deal we had is off if he gets caught up in any funny business. So if you do connect him to that girl's death, let us know. We can conveniently ignore his little dabblings in selling because it keeps his ear to the ground; we're not overlooking murder."

"We'll keep that in mind," Stella said, letting herself and Lindsay into the interview room.

"Hello, Picasso." She said, sitting across from him. "I was expecting someone more... oh, I don't know, cubist."

Lindsay snorted softly beside her, while Picasso rolled his eyes. "You have any questions, or are you just here to show off your bad jokes?"

"Do you know her?" Lindsay asked, sliding the picture of Titania across the table to him.

He paled, reaching across the table to tap the picture. "Yeah, I've seen her around."

"Last night? At a fairy tale party in Central Park?"

He nodded slowly. "It was her birthday. I gave her a blotter, since it was, you know, a holiday and all."

"Do you know her name?"

"Air? Maybe? I didn't know anyone from that scene. Some guy grabbed me on my way to Prowl and said there was a party I had to go to." He shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "I didn't get it, but they were all, you know, dressed up like one of those reenactment groups. My unicorns were a big hit with that crowd."

"Did you give her anything else?"

"Nah." He looked at the picture again. "She's dead, isn't she?"

"She is."

"She seemed..." he wiped his hand across his forehead. "She seemed really nice. Some of the others in her crowd weren't so much, you know. I was just there because they wanted some drugs and nothing more. It was like I was the help. But she, she was a nice person. Even to people she hadn't ever seen before."

"What happened, Picasso?"

"I-I don't know. One minute I'm chatting up this chick who is in one of those old style dresses. The next everyone's running. I thought the party was getting busted, so I just ran, too."

"Did you see her?"

"Yeah, she was shaking. Not like she was scared, but like really hard. I just thought she was _really_ scared." He looked up at Stella, his eyes wide. "I know it sounded lame, but it wasn't like she was sick when we were talking." Picasso looked at them, thinking, "You think that's how- Oh man."

"What?" Lindsay asked gently.

"I was worried, when I saw her. I gave her drugs, and if something happened to her with my drugs on her, I knew my little arrangement here was a bust. I was gonna go get her, but Kimmy? Kelly? The girl I was chatting up, she grabbed my hand and pulled me along. And I saw these guys near her-" He gestured to the picture. "-so I figured they were going to help her out. I know someone mentioned her boyfriend was at the party. I just thought he was one of them. So I... I just ran."

"Do you know Kimmy or Kelly's last name?"

"Nah, we split up at the lake. I headed back over to Prowl to finish the night."

"Do you know the name of anyone at that party?"

"Not really. I mean, the guy who invited me, I know his name is Sam, but last names haven't really been all that important. You know?"

"Why didn't you call 911?" Lindsay asked.

"I thought the police were busting up the party and those guys were taking care of her. I- I didn't want to get caught if there was trouble."

A knock on the door interrupted them. Mac opened it and looked at them before beckoning Stella and Lindsay into the hallway. "Flack is on his way back. He has a name."

"Air something?"

Mac smiled as they headed back up to the labs. "Ariana Hawthorne."

"And last night was her birthday."

"Flack didn't say, but that could explain the decorations."

"Wait- _that_ Ariana Hawthorne?"

Mac nodded grimly. "Both the Mayor and the Chief are going to be keeping close tab on this. We need to have everything - all of the evidence - in order."

"Speaking of which," Lindsay said as the elevator doors opened, "I only got part of the results from Trace. Chad said he'd need more time on the metal chip from the first doll."

"I'm going with her," Stella told Mac. That metal trace had been bothering Lindsay all day. It was time to find out what it was.

"Chad," Lindsay said to the tech as she stepped into the Trace lab, Stella not far behind her, "please tell me you've got something on that metal I sent up."

"That metal isn't exactly metal," he said as he rolled his chair over to the printer where he grabbed a printout. "Well, not just a metal."

"Okay Chad, you're losing me," she said as she took the page he offered and started reading.

"It is actually a glass and metal combination: a platelet of calcium sodium borosilicate that was encapsulated in titanium dioxide."

"Most often used in cosmetic applications," Lindsay read from the paper, frowning. There was something, just out of reach, but this was connected to something that she just couldn't quite remember.

"This is the stuff they use to add sparkle to eye shadow," Stella said, looking over her shoulder to read the paper as well.

"Yeah..." She trailed off, reaching into her lab coat for another paper Chad had sent to her office earlier. "Lotion."

"Lotion?"

"I swabbed the doll that the metallic speck was found on, and it came back as PEG-3 stearate, myristic acid, and a bunch of other moisturizers, all common ingredients in lotion. Add in the borosilicate and titanium dioxide and you have sparkling lotion. I've seen it at some of the high-end cosmetic counters."

"I've seen it, too, even tried it at Macy's. It is supposed to add a 'slight sheen and subtle sparkles to your skin, while making it silky smooth'," she quoted the saleswoman's pitch.

"Did it work?"

They both turned and looked at Chad, who blushed slightly. "My girlfriend. Her birthday is coming up."

"I liked it," Stella said, glancing back down at the page. "And, when you think about it, it'd fit right in with the theme of the party." She fluttered her fingers for effect as she continued, "Sparkly."

"But," Lindsay said with a sigh as they left the trace lab, "other than the fact a bottle of it is at least twice the price of normal lotion, there isn't anything special or exclusive about it. Any number of the women at the party could have been wearing it."

"True. But whoever was wearing it had to have put it on just before touching that doll. It's less likely the fleck would have transferred once the lotion soaked into her skin."

"When you also consider the placement, it suggests that one of the people who decorated the arbor used the lotion. But Flack already got that list from the victim's roommate; this doesn't add or rule out any suspects."

"Hopefully something else will."

::

"Anything?" Danny asked as Hawkes walked into the office he shared with Lindsay.

"Possibly." He replied, pulling the extra chair over and sitting. He had the report from the GC-MS in his hand and held it out to Danny. "That particular fiber is widely used. However, it was most popular in carpets in cars."

"It's better than what I've got." Danny looked over the readout. "So it could be anything, but it's most likely that he picked it up in one of these cars." He whistled as he looked at the list. "That's a lot of cars."

"Yeah. It isn't going to be easy to narrow down that list."

"Then I may have something that will help," Angell said, looking quite pleased with herself as she entered the office. "We have a name for our vic."

"Really? Missing persons worked out? Who is he?"

"Andrew Landon." She sank into Monroe's chair, pulling out the background report she'd pulled up on the vic. "The interesting thing is that he was reported missing two days ago."

"Two days ago? But he died last night."

"Exactly." She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "He was reported as missing by his super who 'saw him leaving in a car with guys he didn't recognize'. And since he cared so much - or more likely because the guy was two weeks late on the rent - he called and made the report when Landon never came home that night. So the question is, what happened and where has he been for the past two days?"

"Somewhere he picked up that grey fiber and got into a fight with someone." Hawkes supplied, standing. "I'll check with Dr. Parsons and see what came back on the blood and skin Sid sent to DNA."

"Yeah, and I'll-" Danny paused as Lindsay entered the office. Looking down at his watch, he groaned. "It can't be that late."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt," she said, "I can come back-"

"Nah." Angell stood, rolling her shoulders and stretching. "It's late. We aren't getting any where on this tonight. Let's regroup in the morning. Maybe fresh eyes will help us spot something we've missed."

"Good idea," Hawkes agreed. "Even if they were able to extract any DNA, we won't get any search results back quickly. Best to leave it for the morning."

"Yeah, I'll see you guys in the morning." Danny waved them away as they left the office. "Hey, how're you doing?"

"Not quite as bad as your case, from the sound of it," She said, leaning against him as he pulled her close. They kept the embrace brief, however, and she pulled away to start unbuttoning her lab coat. "I didn't mean to chase everyone out."

"You didn't. Angell was right - we've been staring at this for too long today. We need some rest and to take a new look at it in the morning." He grabbed the jacket thrown over the back of his chair, one that he'd grabbed that morning only out of habit despite the heat. "How do you feel about getting take-out tonight?"

"Sounds wonderful."


	8. Earthlier happy is the rose distill'd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Titania Falling**  
> **Chapter 8** \- _Earthlier happy is the rose distill'd_

**Titania Falling**  
**Chapter 8** \- _Earthlier happy is the rose distill'd_

::

"I'm pretty certain it was my turn to get breakfast," Jess said, sliding into the booth opposite Don.

He slid a cup of coffee across to her, amused as she dumped an entire sweetener packet into it.

He shrugged as the waitress arrived with their usual breakfasts, sliding the plate of bacon and eggs with a side of toast in front of her. Don dug into his pancakes with gusto, after drowning them in maple syrup.

"You snooze, you loose. Besides, I was getting hungry, and who knows how long you were going to take torturing your hair."

"It's called a flat iron, Don. And if you'll notice, I didn't use it today." She smirked at him before starting to eat, the ferocity with which she dug into her eggs evidence of just how hungry she was.

"Oh, I noticed. I like it better this way--" He motioned to her hair with his forkful of pancake, little drops of maple syrup falling to the plate. "--with the waves and curls and all. It looks nice."

"I think you've mentioned that before." She sipped the too-hot coffee slowly. "But I am still getting it next time."

"Mm-hmm."

"Or..." There was a glint in her eyes as she suggested, "I could make dinner instead."

"You cook?" He grinned back at her as he sipped his coffee. He already knew the answer, had even been treated to her cooking a time or two. But ever since the Barkley stakeout, when she'd mentioned the burnt jello, he hasn't been able to resist teasing her. Jess had a good enough sense of humor to take the teasing well and get him back, too.

"I make some good dijon chicken, or so I've been told." Don couldn't help but perk up when she said that; she knew him all too well.

"With the sweet potatoes? And the homemade bread?" He pretended to stop and think, ignoring her eyeroll. "Then I think I might have to take you up on that. I can bring dessert--anything in particular that goes best with dijon chicken?"

"As long as it's not jello, whatever you bring should be fine." She was playing with the little yellow packet absently, folding it into a small triangle while she watched him.

"Well, darn, I was planning on whipping up some green jello." He ducked out of the way with a grin as she flicked the paper triangle at him. "Okay, okay. No jello. How about I surprise you?"

"That'll be fine." Jess groaned as her phone started ringing, soon followed by his. He was still talking, but trying to put down a tip and pull his jacket back on at the same time, when she thanked Hawkes and flipped her phone shut. She waved him off, pulling out some cash for a tip before quickly draining her coffee cup. It looked like he was going to be in as much of a hurry to get to the station as she was.

"Your case?" She asked as he followed her out the door.

"Yeah, apparently Sid figured out how our vic died."

"Lucky you." She shook her head, a small smile on her face.

"Hey, easy there. You had a COD that was pretty easy to figure out. Some of us don't always get those easy cases."

"Easy?" She gave him a challenging look, then shook her head with a chuckle at the teasing smile on his face. "We only ID'd our guy last night."

"Still thinking it was a suicide?"

"Most likely, but-" She sighed, running a hand through her hair in frustration. "There are too many unanswered questions. Who did he fight with to get the DNA trace under his nails? How did the place get locked back up? How did he get there? Why did he choose that diving club? Hawkes and I are going to head over to the vic's apartment. Maybe we'll get lucky and there'll be a suicide note."

"You do realize that you just jinxed yourself?"

"Oh shut up."

She gave him a mock glare before bumping her shoulder against his arm. It was perfectly natural for him to slip his arm around her waist and pull her close while they walked, enjoying their last few moments together before facing the day and their cases.

As they approached the corner, they both slowed down; the station wasn't far, and once they rounded that corner their personal lives went on hold. Just as it was best not to take their work and its effects home with them, their relationship wasn't something they took to work. There had been rumors about them, but they both preferred to keep it at just that: rumors. Dating a fellow detective might not be forbidden, but it wasn't exactly encouraged either. She leaned against him for a long moment, with her head tucked against his shoulder. When they finally stepped out of their embrace, he reached up and gently tucked her hair behind her ear. "So, dinner tonight?"

"I'm not making homemade bread tonight, Don. I won't get off my shift in time."

"I know, but we will still need to eat." He grinned at her. "How about some take out? At my place?"

"Sure. It'll depend on how this case goes, but we can try."

"Good." They started walking again, rounding the corner and stepping back into their cases.

::

"Yo, Mac."

He looked up when Flack entered his office and flopped into the chair, long legs seeming to take up most of the space in the office. Mac pushed his paperwork (request - nay, a strongly worded suggestion - for another 3% operating budget rescission for the remainder of the fiscal year) aside to address later. "Just in time, Sid is on his way up. He says he knows what killed Ariana Hawthorne."

"And it's not what you would have expected," Sid said, entering the office as well. He frowned briefly at Flack, who moved his legs with an unapologetic grin to let him through. "I was able to use a vitreous fluid analysis to determine that Titania - that is, Ariana - passed away at approximately 1:00 in the morning. She was the victim of an adverse reaction resulting from combined drug intoxication."

"Huh?" Flack looked confused. "Does that mean she drank too much? Took too many drugs?"

"It didn't necessarily result from something she drank. What ultimately killed her is called Serotonin Syndrome." He handed the file he'd pulled together to Mac, settling into the other chair to explain. "It can be difficult to diagnose, but considering the results of her tox screen it is fairly obvious."

"That's when there is a build up of serotonin in the central nervous system, correct?"

"Yes." He nodded at Mac. "Symptoms include agitated delirium, muscular rigidity and high muscular tension, seizures, and a severely elevated temperature, probably in the range of 106."

"Seizures could explain the state the body was found in at the scene," Mac said, leaning back in his chair and thinking. "The grass around her body was matted, so it looked like she had been wrestling on the ground, but we didn't find any evidence of another person on her. A seizure could be the reason for the condition of the grass, as well as grass stains and dirt marks on her clothing. And Picasso told Stella and Lindsay that when he last saw her she was shaking. He may have seen the beginning of her seizure."

"Okay, so our girl gets sick at this party, at her own birthday party, from what kinda sounds like an allergic reaction. And nobody notices or reports its and nobody tries to help?" Flack shook his head, a disgruntled look on his face. "How does someone have one of these adverse drug reactions? Did someone slip her something?"

"Most often it can be caused by a change in medication. In Miss Hawthorne's case, it was the result of a combination of sertraline hydrochloride, paroxetine, lysergic acid diethlamide, and _Hypericum perforatum_ in the girl's system. The interesting part is that I requested her medical records, and she only has a prescription for Zoloft. Not for Paxil."

"We know from Picasso he gave her the LSD at the party," Mac said.

Flack looked over at him. "Did he mention seeing her take it?"

"No, that could raise questions as to whether or not she took it by choice."

"There likely would have been signs that a blotter square was forced into her mouth, by bruising around her jaw. She did have the transfer on the roof of her mouth, but since there wasn't any bruising it was most likely by choice," Sid explained. "The other question is where the St. John's Wort came from. While it is a popular over-the-counter herbal remedy, most doctors prescribing Zoloft would warn against mixing the two. Same for the Paxil."

"So, she probably was drugged," Flack said, nodding his head as he reasoned through the information they'd been given. He noticed Adam Ross hovering outside the office as he spoke, a stack of papers in hand.

"Not necessarily," Mac interjected. "St. John's Wort is a common ingredient in many herbal teas and supplements. It may have been something served at the party without anyone realizing what it could do."

"Actually, I may have something that will help," Adam interrupted from the door, nearly flinching when all three men turned towards him. "Um, maybe."

"What have you got?" Flack asked, leaning back in his chair. He didn't work directly with the lab tech much, but his work on cases was invaluable. And Adam'd had his back when Joe ended up driving Sam's car. He was pretty certain that whatever Ross had come up with would help crack the case. Adam stepped into the office, nervously flipping through the papers in his hand.

"I just finished running all the food and drink - and I really do mean all of it; this seemed to be some kind of dionysian bacchanal from the looks of everything - through the GCMS. Everything is pretty normal, that is if you consider spiking the punch with champagne instead of Everclear normal, except for one cup." He handed the printout from the mass spectrometer to Mac. "There was one cup that had traces of certain naphtodianthrones, phloroglucinols, some flavonoids and phenolic acids, and sesquiterpenes, the combination of which is characteristic of _Hypericum perforatum_, in it. Just the one. According to DNA and lipstick trace that was the victim's cup. I wasn't certain _why_ only that cup would have St. John's Wort in it when none of the others did, but if that is part of what killed her--"

"It does suggest that she was singled out to be drugged," Flack finished, standing and heading to the door. "You have to admit, Mac, if that herbal thingy wasn't meant for just her it would have been in more cups than hers."

"There's also the question of where the Paxil came from," Sid reminded them. "Miss Hawthorne had a severe reaction resulting from very large amounts of serotonin built up. Less deadly reactions have been caused just by switching from a medication like Zoloft to a medication like Paxil; the combination of the two would have very likely triggered a reaction for her."

"Adding the St. John's Wort and LSD meant she never had a chance," Mac said resolutely. This hadn't been an accidental self-poisoning. This _was_ murder. "A combination of just the St. John's Wort and LSD found at the party wouldn't have produced as severe a reaction. Our murderer had to have know that she was taking Zoloft."

"Her roommate would know. And her ex-boyfriend would likely know as well." His head canted to the side, Flack frowned as he remembered something from the day before. "You know, in the entire interview, her roommate never once asked _how_ Ariana died. That seemed a little fishy to me."

"Get on it."

Flack nodded and added, "There's also the question of a possible video floating around. I've got a name and address, but apparently he's out of town right now. I'll keep checking."

With that he headed out, planning to head by Kline and Associates, and clapped Adam on the shoulder as he passed. "Good work -you may have just cracked the case."

"Heh, thanks. Um, also, there were two sets of prints on the cup, one of which was hers. The others didn't match anything in the system." Ross shifted his weight nervously, before glancing over at Mac. "I'll, uh, be in the lab. There's still a lot of evidence for us to process."

Mac nodded as both Adam and Sid left his office, turning his attention back to the lab reports from both of them. The case had gone from 'suspicious death' to 'accidental death' to 'murder' in just minutes' time. There was more to be discovered before they knew what really happened to Ariana Hawthorne. After thoroughly reading both reports, he left his office for the lab, intending to help sift through the mountain of evidence they had brought in.

"Mac," Stella called down the hallway, hurrying up to join him outside the lab. "I figured it out."

"Figured it out?" he asked, a small smile playing on his face. She was clearly excited about her discovery.

"The scene. Especially the arbor." She held a book in her arms, large and thick and he could see the glossy pages from this angle even if he couldn't tell exactly what was printed on them. "It all felt so familiar to me. Then last night, while I was making supper, I had the TV on to listen to and it was a History Channel documentary on artists with mental illnesses. One of the artists they mentioned was Richard Dadd, who painted two very influential works in particular - paintings of fairies, one of which was _Titania Sleeping_."

He took the proffered book, open to a picture depicting that well known scene from _A_ _Midsummer Night's Dream_. With fairy folk dancing around her, Titania slept under a ring of small fairies - looking very similar to their arbor - while Oberon waited in the shadows to drug her. "A rather remarkable amount of foreshadowing, don't you think?"

"Truthfully, I'm not certain what to think," She said, tucking a dark strand of curls behind her ear. "I'm not even certain if it will help us with anything, other than the fact the guy was crazy."

"Our victim essentially OD'ed on antidepressants."

"Then maybe it means something after all." She sighed, taking the book back from him. "Do we know if she had any prescriptions?"

"For Zoloft, but there was also Paxil in her system. And St. John's Wort and LSD."

"That's quite a mix. We know she got the drugs at the party."

"And the St. John's Wort, which was only found in her cup."

"That'll be hard to trace, Mac," she said, furrowing her brow as she thought. "St. John's Wort is a pretty popular herbal remedy, and you can get it at almost any drug store in the city. We'd do better figuring out where she got the Paxil - since that requires a prescription."

"It wouldn't be the first time we've encounters someone illegally selling prescription drugs," he pointed out as they fell into step together. "Do you think she couldn't have gotten it from the drug dealer?"

"No, he's strictly LSD. And it sounds like Narcotics keeps him on a pretty tight leash as a CI." She quickly gave him a summary of the conversation he had interrupted, shaking her head. "I don't think he was involved. Other than selling the LSD."

"Okay." They stopped outside the one of the labs. "I'm going to check with trace, see if they got anything else from the samples Lindsay took from the other dolls. There's something else, we just have to find it."


	9. The starry welkin cover thou anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Titania Falling  
> Chapter 9 - ** _The starry welkin cover thou anon  
> With drooping fog as black as Acheron  
> _

**Titania Falling  
Chapter 9 - ** _The starry welkin cover thou anon  
With drooping fog as black as Acheron  
_

::

"So, the super gave me a copy of the key," Angell said, meeting Hawkes in the lobby.

"Did he say anything else about Landon?" he asked, shifting his kit to his other hand as he walked with her.

"Just that he's been having trouble with paying his rent on time, and has been getting worse in the last six months or so." She showed him up rickety stairs to Andrew Landon's apartment, pulling the key out as she continued, "He figured that Landon's money troubles were related to some gambling rumors that apparently went around a few years ago. Said he never really worried about it, since Landon always came up with the money - including late fees - eventually, until he 'saw the thugs' - his words - that looked like they were forcing Landon into their car. He says he tried to report it as a suspected kidnapping, but it was brushed off by the cops so he called missing persons."

"Not good. Especially if it could have prevented Landon's death."

"Yeah." She frowned as they reached the 4th floor where they could see Landon's door was ajar. "I'll be looking into that."

Swinging the door open, Angell immediately reached for her sidearm. The place had been trashed. She knew that Hawkes was doing the same behind her, setting his case down and shifting to hold his gun at the ready as they began working together to clear the apartment. She took the lead, stepping into the apartment and scanning what appeared to be the living the room for intruders. Seeing none, she crossed into the bedroom, quickly but carefully searching the room, the closet, and attached bathroom. Behind her, on the other side of the apartment, she could hear Hawkes announcing the kitchen was clear as well. Relieved that this case hadn't blown up completely - only slightly said a small, snarky voice at the back of her mind - she returned to the entrance to find Hawkes pulling his camera out.

"Interesting turn of events," he said, snapping pictures of the crumpled furniture and upended shelves.

"It's beginning to put those gambling rumors into more perspective," she replied, taking notes about the state of the living space. While their vic may not have had much in the way of books on his shelves, he had apparently been bitten by the gaming bug. And his big screen TV and high-end gaming system were noticeably out of place compared to his ratty furniture and bare fridge, cupboards, and closets. There were a few papers on the table - the only piece of furniture, outside of the entertainment system, still standing upright. Taking a pair of rubber gloves offered by Hawkes she lifted them for a closer look. "We've got bank statements here. It looks like he hasn't had a paycheck in months. Just a few large cash deposits. And a lot of cash withdrawals. I may not be a forensic accountant, but I know hinky when I see it."

"And I've got what looks like blood over here." He dabbed at the spot with a swab, collecting a sample of the congealed blood. Spraying the swab with the luminol from his kit, neither were surprised when the sample turned fluorescent blue.

"Are we still thinking this was a suicide?" she asked, looking into the tiny, open coat closet. It was almost completely empty, everything pulled from hangers and piled on the floor around the door. Things that would normally be tossed into a closet like this - rain boots, umbrellas, other miscellaneous items - had joined the coats on the floor. The only thing remaining was a soft-sided case of some sort up on the shelf above the clothes rod. Reaching up, she pulled it down to look at - empty. With a frustrated sigh she replaced it. Yet another dead end.

"I don't know." He crouched down to gather some small fibers from the floor, shaking his head. "It certainly doesn't feel like your garden variety suicide. Suicides usually don't leave messes like this. They leave things neat and tidy, with notes and explanations. They usually feel they've been a burden: on friends, family, neighbors; by committing suicide they become less of a burden. This isn't the apartment of a typical suicide. But not every suicide is the same."

"It looks more like there could have been an altercation here," she said, looking around the room. "That table and papers are the only things that weren't disturbed. There could have been an argument about money that led to the fight that destroyed this place."

"It does look like it was tossed pretty good."

"Yeah, they even cut up his mattresses in the other room. And completely cleared the closets - all of the usual hiding spaces." She ran her hand through her hair, suddenly wondering if Flack's case was going any better. There were too many questions here, too many new ones added by finding this mess, for this to close easily. "But if he has had money coming in - and according to the bank records he has - then where did it go if the cash withdrawals weren't to pay off gambling debts?"

"Maybe he had too many to pay off? If he owed to several people, he may have paid one person off, but was still in the hole to whoever did this."

"Or we may be jumping to too many conclusions without enough evidence." She sighed, giving him a wan smile. They had just gone from having nearly nothing in terms of evidence to having mountains of it. The best thing to do would be to wait and see what Danny and Sheldon could come up with from this mess. "I'm going to go and ask the super a few more questions. Do you want me to call Messer in to help with this?"

He looked up from where he was squatting near a splintered chair and surveyed the mess. Despite the tiny size of the apartment, there was a lot they were going to have to go through. "If you don't mind. And check with the neighbors - someone had to have heard this struggle."

"Got it." Carefully stepping over the remains of a shredded cushion as she pulled out her phone, she made her way to the hallway to call Danny. She also took note of the surrounding apartments, knowing she'd need that information for her discussion with the super. He'd acted a little shifty when she spoke with him earlier; there had been something he hadn't told her.

::

Carefully inputting the results he had gotten from Jane, Danny began the search to see if there was a match for the blood and skin under Landon's nails. It was going to take the computer some time to run the search, which he took advantage of by running to the break room for more coffee. There was another box of donuts out, so he happily liberated one before returning for his results.

He groaned to see the computer was still running the search. Obviously this wasn't going to be easy. Maybe he should have gone with Angell and Hawkes to check out the apartment, but he had wanted to get a start on this. It'd be nice to give them a name when they got back. Realizing that glaring at it wasn't going to make the computer work any faster, Danny returned to the evidence. He was just going through the report on the fiber, intent on seeing if there was anything usable, when Adam entered with an armful of evidence bags. It didn't look like anything from Stella and Lindsay's case. At all.

"Whatcha got there?" He asked as the bags of tissue paper, flowers and ribbon was deposited on the light table.

"New evidence," Adam replied, starting his routine of sorting everything in the order he would process it. "Maka's case, a murder in a flower shop early this morning."

"Explains all the flowers."

"Yeah." Adam frowned as he sorted the bloody tissue paper that had been bagged and the bags with the flowers that had a light black dusting on them. "Mac's pretty sure that this is GSR. And the witness said that the murder vic hit the guy who held them up. Hard enough that a tooth came out-" he held up the evidence bag with the tooth in question. "--so hopefully some of this blood is his."

"That'd be nice, open and shut."

"Definitely. How 'bout you?"

"Cars." Danny motioned to the fiber. "It's most often used as carpeting in cars. The list of models is pretty long, but I've got to start somewhere. Especially if we don't get a DNA match."

"Have you thought about a database comparison?"

"Huh?"

"What you ought to do is to set up a database, like in Access or something, and import the DMV data into that. Then pull a list of known offenders that are out of prison. Since that data should continue information like what they're driving, you can run a comparison and narrow the number down to a more manageable group fairly quickly." He shrugged. "It isn't an exact science, and you may go through all the work and get nothing, but you may have a starting place if the DNA doesn't get you anything."

"Good idea."

Danny quickly followed Adam's suggestion, exporting the list of registered vehicles in the city that match the carpet fibers. It was huge: that fiber had been used in car carpets for a while. He really hoped that this would work because there was no way he could go through all of these vehicles. He started with just the violent offender database - those who had committed murder were more likely to do it again. Then Danny remembered something that he'd seen when looking up Andrew Landon after he got to work this morning. Landon had been a diver, kicked out of the sport because of gambling problems. It would be a more than just a little bit symbolic of a way to kill a former diver, he thought to himself as he added the list of offenders involved in illegal gambling.

This database search ran much more quickly than the DNA database, giving him back a more manageable list of offenders who had cars fitting the parameters within ten minutes. He was just looking through it when the DNA results came in. The DNA definitely belonged to someone in the system.

He was reaching for his cell phone when it rang. "Messer."

"It's Angell, are you in the middle of something?"

"Nope, just finished and got something interesting for you guys."

"Good. Someone trashed Landon's place. Completely trashed - the only thing left standing was a table. Hawkes could use some help with it. I'm off to talk with the super."

"While you're at it, track down Ian Kovalenko."

"Ian Kovalenko? Isn't he one of Jagodowski's thugs?"

"His DNA was found under Landon's fingernails. And guess what kind of car his boss owns?"

"Something with grey carpeting that matches our fiber?"

"On the nose. Tell Hawkes I'm on my way to help."


	10. It is not enough to speak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Titania Falling  
> ** **Chapter 10 - ** _It is not enough to speak, but to speak true_

**Titania Falling  
** **Chapter 10 - ** _It is not enough to speak, but to speak true_

::

When Don arrived at Kline and Associates, he was immediately informed that Mr. Kline was in a meeting. Unperturbed, he pulled out of the list of co-workers Vivienne Harlow had mentioned in their earlier interview and asked to speak with them. He might as well do something while he was waiting.

Sophia Trent was a lovely young woman with dark hair and ebony skin who worked in a section of the offices that reminded him of the CSI labs with its glass walls and doors. He knocked at her door, other hand holding up his shield. Spotting him, she quickly ended her call to greet him.

"Um, I figured you might be coming by."

"I'm sorry about the loss of your friend," he said as she quickly pulled file folders off the spare chair by her desk. "I have a few questions for you, if you don't mind."

She shook her head, gesturing to the chair she'd cleared. "I'll tell you what I can. I hope it'll help."

"What can you tell me about the night of the party?"

"We told Ariana that we were going to a costume gala for a painting at the museum. Vivi thought that would make good cover for the party, there was a lot of talk about the gala but Ariana was horrible about remembering dates for things. Since Vivi took care of RSVPing them both, Ariana didn't know that it wasn't until the day after."

"So that's how you got her dressed up without realizing it was a birthday party."

"Yeah." She glanced away, the looked back at him with a soft, reminiscent smile on her face. "You should have seen Ari's face when she got to the park. She was so thrilled."

"Tell me about the stuff at the party."

"Well, Tina and I did the decorations, Vivi took care of the food and drinks. Derek was supposed get permission for the party, but he didn't after he and Ari broke up." She looked up at him. "It was rough on them both. He showed up at the party with a friend, some guy who zeroed Tina pretty quickly. I remember that because she and I had gone together, and I was worried about her getting home, but it didn't really last."

"Did Derek and Ariana interact in any way?"

"They were, well, kinda flirty at first. The way they used to be. Then something happened and she seemed upset with him. After that she spent her time there with his friend. I-" She paused, tugging her lower lip with her teeth. "I don't know for certain, but I kinda got the impression that she was trying to make him jealous. It's... I don't want to speak ill of the dead, but it's something that she would do when they were having fights. That was when Vivi and Mark left. Someone had shown up with drugs - Vivi's a bit of a prude and doesn't like to be around them - and Ari was so caught up in the party she never noticed."

"Was Miss Hawthorne using drugs at the party?"

Sophia looked away, but nodded. "She knew better, but said it was a one time thing because it was her birthday."

He was about to ask another question when the phone on her desk rang. Answering it, she glanced over at him while speaking briefly with the caller before hanging up. "I'm supposed to tell you that Mr. Kline can see you now."

"Thank you."

"He's up on the 28th floor, two floors up. The elevators are over there," Sophia walked him to her office door and pointed in the direction of the receptionist's desk. "You'll find whoever did this to Ariana, right?"

"Yes, we will."

He was joined on the elevator by another employee of the firm, who held out his hand and quickly introduced himself as Kyle Halmann. "You're here about what happened to Ariana, right?"

"I am." He examined Halmann carefully. Vivienne Harlow had mentioned a Kyle in her statement, someone from work who had been harassing female employees. "Did you work with her?"

"Yeah." He seemed a little starry-eyed and stepped closer to Flack as he answered. "And I've been learning a lot from her. See, this wasn't my original field. I got as far as my first year of med school, but I was just doing it because my father expected me to, not because it was what I wanted to do. So I wised up and quit. I got a job here, and I'm working on my MBA, but I couldn't have done it without Ari. She's always there to help everyone. She said I could stop by her office whenever I wanted. She gave great advice."

"Uh-huh." Flack tried to back away as best he could in the small elevator. "I get the impression she had a lot of friends here."

"She was the greatest. We had a connection, you know? Ari understood me in ways no one else does."

Flack was spared further comment by the opening of the elevator doors and quickly made his escape, filing the encounter away for future reference. He followed Sophia's instructions to reach the upper management offices, where he immediately encountered another receptionist. This one, however, must have been forewarned, for she immediately stood to greet him.

"Mr. Kline is in his office and said to show you in."

He was shown into a luxuriantly decorated corner office, complete with dark wood paneling, executive desk, and leather furniture. The man behind the desk stood as they entered, rounding it and holding his hand out as he introduced himself.

"I'm Damon Kline. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances. Ariana was an important member of our organization and she will be sorely missed."

"Detective Flack," he responded, shaking Kline's hand. "What can you tell me about Miss Hawthorne?"

"Like I said, she was a valuable member of our team." Kline leaned back so he was sitting at the edge of his desk, motioning for Flack to take a seat in one of the leather wingback chairs in front of him. "She got along with most everyone. Obviously in a competitive firm and field such as this, a person can't be best friends with everyone, but for the most part she was well liked."

"For the most part?" Don asked, leaning forward expectantly. "Did Ariana have any enemies that you knew of? Anyone who'd want her dead?"

"Want her dead? Of course not. As for enemies, she beat a few people out for accounts that they would have liked. And she is in - er, was in the running for a promotion; she was one of several, though Ariana was definitely at the top of the group. She and several other women in the company have filed complaints about the actions of a male member of our staff, however that was handled in such a manner that he wouldn't be aware of who was responsible."

"Would that be Kyle Halmann?"

"Er, yes."

"Her roommate, Vivienne Harlow, mentioned this promotion. She seemed to think that Miss Hawthorne was very talented and that she was a shoo-in for the position."

"She did, did she?" Kline shifted, weighing his next comment carefully before speaking again. "That was very good of her."

"Would you like to explain?"

"Vivienne is also one of the candidates for the promotion." He stood, walking to the windows and looking out onto the street as he gathered his thoughts. "I was concerned, of course, about allowing them both in the candidate pool, however I couldn't inot/i have them in it. They're both very talented. Unfortunately, their relationship has strained under the pressure; there have been comments and accusations that have reached my ears. Nothing official, of course, but I needed to keep them in mind as I make my decision."

"What kinds of accusations?"

"That Ariana had been plagiarizing other people's work in her campaigns. Specifically that one of her most recent programs had been Vivienne's idea, which she'd stolen and used, forcing Vivi to create something new at the last minute. It wouldn't do for two different groups to have such similar programs at the same time. And Vivienne's clients had not been happy at all, since she'd worked with them from the beginning on the original idea and came to me to complain. That's how I knew there was truth to the rumors."

"But Ariana was still going to get the promotion."

"Oh, I haven't - hadn't - made up my mind yet." He caught Flack's eye, then looked away. "But yes, the promotion was most likely going to go Ariana. Vivienne was the better worker, had better ideas, but Ariana had something that Vivienne didn't."

"Which would be?"

"Her name. Some of the work we do with our non-profit clients includes creating and pulling off huge charity galas and balls. Events where people, celebrities, with high name recognition aren't always required to pay the $1,000 price per plate - they're paid to come and appear to be promoting the cause. Because if you can say that George Clooney is coming to your dinner, you'll more than make up what you're paying him with all the extra seats you sell." He nodded as he continued. "Ariana Hawthorne, for all that she is an employee of this company, is also a pop-culture princess just by virtue of who she is, who her parents are, who her siblings are. If she wasn't the one working these campaigns, she'd be paid to be there."

"It's free promotion for them," Flack said, understanding where Kline was going with this.

"Not completely free - they do pay for our services - but yes, they get the benefit of her name without the additional expense. And that is what she has - her name. Because of that name, we had several clients that preferred to work with her. Next to her, Vivienne was nobody. So, yes, Ariana was likely going to get the promotion. If she stayed. Don't think I didn't know about that trust fund she was finally getting access to. The contract was going to include a provision requiring her to stay with the company for at least five years, or she would have to reimburse us for the entirety of the amount of her salary for those five years, regardless of when she left. I really wasn't certain if she'd sign it. Truth be told, I was waiting to see what happened after her birthday, see if there were any signs that she was thinking of leaving. But even as recent as last week, when we had our monthly conference, she was still very interested in the possibility of that promotion."

"So you kept Vivienne strung along on the possibility of a promotion, waiting to see what Ariana did."

"Well, yes. But you don't seriously think that Vivi would have had anything to do with this? Do you?" Kline seemed thrown by the idea. "I can't even imagine Vivi doing this. She knows Ariana, lives with her. I hardly think she'd be capable of something like this."

"And yet, Ariana stole her work and was likely going to beat her out on a hefty promotion as a result of that work. You said yourself that Vivienne was better qualified for the position. Do you think that Vivienne knows that?"

"Hmmm..." He was lost in thought for a time. "I really don't know. I never play favorites - if anyone gets any praise, it's because they deserve it, and rarely then. My prodigies know they have to work and they have to work hard if they want to get anywhere. I can't think of any instance where I've shown any preference for Ariana over Vivienne."

"What about the promotion? Have there been any rumors about it?"

"Only that it was likely to go to one of those two women. Listen, I heard rumors every day regarding that spot, especially the longer I put off the decision, which I had to do: I had to know what Ariana was going to do before I offered it to her. I couldn't make that kind of investment in her only to have her disappear to Botswana on one of her harebrained schemes next year."

"Harebrained schemes?"

"Ariana was as starry-eyed as they come - she wanted to be the next Angelina Jolie, she wanted to save the world. Everyone knew that she planned to be more involved, more directly involved, in charity work when she got her trust money. As I've already said, the question was how long she stuck around here. But Vivienne, she had to know that even if Ariana got the position, it was hers as soon as Ariana was gone."

"All the more reason for her to be gone more quickly, wouldn't you say?"

"Anyone else, yes. But Vivienne?" Kline scoffed. "She's not the type to be able to do something like that. She couldn't stomach it."

"Statistically, more women use poisoning to commit murder because it's more impersonal compared to direct methods such as shootings," Flack responded, rising from his chair. "Thank you for this information. Obviously this is a confidential discussion. It wouldn't do to become part of the office gossip."

"Of course. But trust me, Vivienne Harlow is not your murderer."

"I'll keep that under advisement," Flack said cheerfully, tucking his notebook back into his jacket pocket. "I'll see myself out."

He nodded to the receptionist on his way to the elevator. They'd just made some very interesting progress in the case. He pulled out his cell phone so he could call the lab as soon as he was back to the car. They needed to go through Harlow's apartment, see if there was anything there that incriminated her. Arrangements were quickly made for Stella and Lindsay to meet him there.


	11. All this coil is long of you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Titania Falling  
> **Chapter 11 - **_A__ll this coil is long of you_**

**Titania Falling  
**Chapter 11 - **_A__ll this coil is long of you_**

::

"Nice car." Ian Kovalenko's file suggested he'd likely be at this restaurant. Not only was he here, but the car they were looking for was as well. "You know, you just don't see cars like this much any more."

"You two need something?"

"Ian Kovalenko?" Angell produced her badge from a pocket and held it out to him. Danny did the same. "We just have a few questions."

"Like how'd you get those scratches on your face?" Danny shrugged when Kovalenko turned and glared at him. "Seems like a good place to start."

"My wife." He held up his hand to show off his wedding band. "She got a little... frisky."

"Your wife's name Andrew Landon?" Angell asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Never heard of him."

"Funny, seeing as he had your DNA under his nails."

"Under his nails? You know where that little pissant is?" Kovalenko rose angrily, glaring at them both.

"Hey," Angell said as she raised her badge again. "Don't give me a reason to arrest you. We know where he is."

"In the morgue," Danny supplied, leaning back on his heels. "With, you know, your DNA. And it seems like you do know him. Looks like Detective Angell might have that reason to arrest you after all."

"Listen, I didn't do nothing to him. H--," Kovalenko pointed to his cheek, "did this to me."

"Let me guess, you were trying to shake him down for money."

"Money he owes us," Kovalenko said.

"Money he didn't have."

"Doesn't matter. It was due."

"Where were you the night before last?" Angell asked him, crossing her arms. "Around 11:00."

"Here, big poker game in the back room."

"Any witnesses?"

"Several."

"We'll need their names."

Kovalenko stood, taking the notebook Angell offered, and started writing. "Listen. I don't kill people no more. Yeah, I rough them up from time to time for Mr. Jagodowski, but it's because they deserve it. But killing? That's off limits. Don't do it."

"We get it. You turned over a new leaf, you're a humanitarian now," Danny quipped. "We're still going to follow up on this."

::

"So, what have you got there?" Stella asked Hawkes, putting on her glasses as she leaned over his shoulder.

"Fingerprints," Hawkes replied as he carefully lifted another print from the bank statements they'd brought back from Landon's apartment. "Someone trashed our vic's place. The only thing left undisturbed was the table with these papers."

"So you think they may have something to do with what happened?"

"I hope so. We've got two sets of prints. Assuming that one set matches Landon's reference sample, the second may lead us to his killer."

"Or his accountant."

"I don't think this guy had an accountant." He smiled over the page at her. "How's your case going?"

"That's why I'm here. Our victim died of serotonin syndrome. According to Sid it's fairly rare."

"And so you want to pick my brain," he sat back in his chair, placing the prints he had lifted so far on the scanner so they would search while he and Stella talked. "It is fairly rare compared to other illnesses and drug interactions. The symptoms are fairly characteristic but also easy to mistake for other medical conditions. And there isn't a straightforward lab test; you need to test the blood for the different possible agents that can cause the reaction. That said, with the number of MAOIs and SSRIs on the market these days, it is becoming more prevalent. Doctors have to be very careful about prescribing those drugs. Just going off the meds could cause a reaction."

"She had Zoloft and Paxil in her system, as well as St. John's Wort and LSD." Stella pulled out the tox report Sid had brought up and showed him the amounts in Ariana's system. "We're pretty sure she willingly took the LSD, but we're not so certain about the St. John's Wort. The glass she drank from was the only one with any trace of it, and it had two sets of prints."

"Did she have prescriptions for both meds?"

"No, just the Zoloft. We don't know where the Paxil came from yet."

"But the people at the party were mostly friends, or at least people who knew her."

"There were a few that got invitations from other partygoers, but most there were invited by her roommate." Stella paused, her brow furrowed. "You're thinking that the person who gave her the St. John's Wort knew she was on an antidepressant."

"Assuming the person who gave her the cup knew what they were doing and about her Zoloft prescription, just it and the St. John's Wort would have been enough for a mild reaction."

"Which would be?"

"Agitation and nervousness, insomnia, tachycardia, and low blood pressure. She may have felt less coordinated than usual, as well as confused. Things that would have caused her to go into the hospital, where it would have been diagnosed." Hawkes paused, then said, "The thing about serotonin syndrome is that all of the symptoms can easily be symptoms of something else: virus, neurological disorder, or the psychiatric condition she had been prescribed the medication for getting worse."

"What about the Paxil and LSD in her system? What would they have done?"

"There really isn't enough Paxil here to do too much if she hadn't taken the LSD or St. John's Wort. It could have contributed to a mild reaction, but nothing a short hospital stay wouldn't take care of. The reaction may have even been mild enough that she wouldn't notice and not go." Hawkes pointed at the numbers for the LSD in her system. "Ultimately, it's the combination that killed her. The person who gave her the cup may or may not have known she was going to take drugs at the party or about the Paxil, but the addition of the LSD and St. John's Wort to the prescription drugs is what pushed this into a fatal reaction."

"So if our killer knew about the drugs, he was trying to kill her; if he didn't, it was probably just an accident?"

"Assuming he knew what he was doing."

"That can be a pretty big assumption," Stella said, finger tapping on her lip as she thought to herself. The computer beeped behind them, and Hawkes turned to look at the results.

"I was right - one set of prints does match Landon. The other set... I need to show this to Danny and Angell. If you'll excuse me--" He was out of the room before she could respond.

"I have something," Hawkes said as he stepped into the office. Danny was just hanging up the phone with a disgruntled look on his face.

"Good, because Ian Kovalenko's alibi checks out. We've got nothing on him, other than the fact that Landon owed his boss a lot of money. Too bad, because I really liked the guy for it. It would fit - Landon didn't pay up, so they decided to make an example of him for the other guys who owe them."

"Well, I don't have anything on that. But I do have fingerprints."

"Where?"

"On the bank statements and on the table." He handed the report he was carrying to Danny. "And we have a match."

"To the super. You know, Angell mentioned that he was acting squirrelly."

"We should go talk to her."

"And him."

::

The look on Angell's face when they told her about the prints was victorious. The look on the super's face when a black and white brought him in for questioning was anything but. Tucked away in interview room #7, Angell quickly and carefully laid it all out for him.

"You want to tell me what happened, or do you want me to tell you?" she asked, leaning over the table opposite him. "Because I can tell you what it looks like to us, and that would be 20 to life for you."

"What?" he cried out. He nervously glanced at the large window Danny and Hawkes stood behind, then looked back to Angell. "I didn't do nuthin' to him. Like I told you and the other useless cops, I saw some guys pushing him into a car. And they didn't look too friendly, neither."

"You see, that's interesting." Jess pulled out a report that she pushed across the table to him. "According to this you saw him getting into a car you didn't recognize with people you didn't know. And then when he didn't come home that night, you decided to call missing persons. I already checked around - you didn't report a kidnapping like you said you did. You called missing persons and put in a report that you had to know sounded like he went out for a few drinks and crashed at a friends' place. Something that would fall through the cracks until you needed something to cover your ass."

"I reported what I saw."

"You reported something that made you sound like a concerned citizen, one of the good guys, not someone who'd trash one of his tenants apartments when he didn't come home. Tell me, did you do that before or after you called the cops?"

"I didn't do anything wrong."

"No? How'd you do it, Clive? How'd you manage to make it look like a suicide?"

He jumped up, furious. "Do you really think I wanted him dead? No! With him dead I'll never get my money!"

"Get your money?" She settled into the seat opposite him, motioned for him to sit back down, and said, "Do tell."

"He got behind on his rent, too far behind. When I delivered the eviction notice he begged me for some help. He said he was about to win big. He offered to take me on as a partner, 50/50 split, if I'd just help him out. I-I was stupid and agreed. But I made him promise that he'd pay me back, on top of the split."

"And?"

"And then I started paying his rent for him. Out of my own pocket. I thought he was legit. Then I saw those guys grab him. I knew he couldn't be winning - he was losing. I was going to call the police and report it as a kidnapping, but I'm not stupid. I'd have to tell about the gambling, and then I'd never see my money again. So I reported him missing, said I was concerned because he went out with those guys and never returned. I even gave a good description of them, but no one took me seriously."

"Probably because you were lying to them."

"I wasn't lying. I just was... omitting a few things."

"Lying by omission?"

"Listen, I just wanted my money! That was my life savings that I lost, between what I gave him and what I used to pay his rent."

"Which is why you tossed his place."

"Yes! And it wasn't even breaking and entering. His name may have been on the lease, but I manage that apartment building and am within my rights to enter any apartment there. Plus, I had been paying for it - it was practically my apartment!"

"Practically? You trashed the place, destroyed most of his furniture even." She leaned back and watched him closely. "Why didn't you take anything? Big screen TV, gaming system people would give their right arms for, but you left it all behind."

"I-I was going to go back for it. After you told me he was dead. I just - when I found those reports from the bank, it was like a punch in the gut. He'd been taking out all of this money, but none of it had been used to pay me back. He'd _cheated_ me. I'm the closest thing he's had to a friend since he was kicked out of diving, and he's been cheating me all along. I, well, that's when I knew I'd never see my money again. I was just so angry, I tore some stuff up and left. I didn't know he was dead until you called about the missing persons report. I figured that you'd think the thugs were the ones who trashed the place, and I could go in and get what was left after you were done."

"Uh-huh."

"But I didn't kill him. You have to believe me on that. I may have been mad at him, but if I had the choice between killing him and never getting my money back or not killing him and maybe getting it back - I wouldn't kill him. Look at me now, I'm ruined."

"That's the least of your worries. If you're lucky, the state'll be putting you up for a few years." Jess stood and left the interview room before he could answer. Danny and Hawkes met her in the hall, looking about as optimistic as she felt. Shaking her head, she leaned her shoulder against the wall. "I don't think he did it."

"Neither do I," Danny said. He folded his arms across his chest and continued, "All we've got is his fingerprints in the apartment."

"And his confession to breaking in," Hawkes added.

"Yeah, but he's got a point. If he wanted his money back he wouldn't kill the guy. He's never going to get it back now."

"Not to mention that even with the confession, a good defense lawyer might get the fingerprints thrown out. As super he can enter a tenant's apartment if necessary. We just have no way of proving, right now, that he didn't enter with permission."

"We have to go back to the apartment." Hawkes looked thoughtful. "There is something that we're missing."

"Okay, so we go back to the apartment."


	12. And the night's swift dragons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Titania Falling  
> Chapter 12** \- _And the night's swift dragons cut the fog full fast  
> _

**Titania Falling  
Chapter 12** \- _And the night's swift dragons cut the fog full fast  
_

::

Flack drove straight from the Kline and Associates offices to the high-rise where Vivienne Harlow lived. He pulled into an open space just behind the lab's Avalanche, Mac and Monroe joining him on the sidewalk. "Has the warrant come yet?"

"Stella went to pick it up. She said she'll meet us here," Mac said as he opened the back and pulled out kits for him and Lindsay. Flack felt a brief sense of déjà vu as Stella's SUV slid into a slightly illegal spot across the street - the placard on her dashboard allowed her to park wherever she wanted as long as it wasn't in front of a hydrant - and she quickly joined them, warrant in hand.

"You're lucky the DA was able to find a sympathetic judge. We don't have much to go on here," She said as they convened on the sidewalk.

"She had the most to gain, lives with the victim, and was at - and organized - the party in the park. What more did they want? A hand-signed confession? Cause we don't usually get those until after we have the evidence you're going in there to look for," Flack retorted angrily, shaking his head in frustration.

"Thankfully the judge agreed," Mac intervened, heading for the entrance.

"I think it may have more to do with everyone being under pressure to get this case closed," Stella said, walking alongside Mac. "Apparently Mr. Hawthorne's people have already been to the mayor twice since Ariana was ID'd. He wants to know what happened to his daughter."

"I don't blame him. But we're not going to get this case closed until we have the evidence we need. No amount of pressure is going to change that."

"Try telling that to her father," Lindsay muttered under her breath.

Flack knew she'd dealt with her share of grieving parents, probably more than she'd ever needed to, and understood exactly where Hawthorne was coming from. The only difference between this case and any other grieving father was that Ralph Hawthorne golfed with the mayor once a month. He had the connections to make their lives miserable until this case was closed, if need be. Flack was just surprised that he hadn't yet.

It didn't take nearly as long to get to Vivienne Harlow's door this time, without meandering through the building to talk to other potential witnesses. She seemed quite surprised when she answered it, opening it quickly when she saw who stood on the other side. "Detective Flack. May I help you?"

"Miss Harlow, we need to take a look around. At both your things and Ariana's." He handed her the search warrant that Stella had passed to him in the elevator. "And I am going to need to ask you a few more questions."

Vivienne read through the entire warrant before she let them in. She had a visitor who was sitting in the living room. He stood and approached her, sliding an arm around her back. "What do you need? Can't you see this is difficult for her?"

"I understand, sir," Flack said diplomatically as he and the others entered the apartment, "however there are some things we need to know. Miss Harlow," he continued, turning to address her, "we can either do the questions here or downtown."

"Am I going to need my lawyer?" she asked carefully, eyes still on the page as if she was rereading the document. When she finished, she handed it to her guest for him to read.

"That is entirely up to you."

"She'll wait," The other man - her boyfriend Mark Coleman, Flack guessed - said. "Why don't you sit down, sweetheart? I'll call the lawyer."

She nodded silently as she took a seat on the sofa where Flack had interviewed her earlier. The three CSIs split up to search and process the apartment, looking for anything that could have been used in the course of the murder, but especially the St. John's Wort and the Paxil. Lindsay headed into the kitchen, searching through the cabinets to see what she might find.

Stella headed into the bedroom on the right - Vivienne had explained hers was to the right and Ariana's to the left of the living room. Both bedrooms had en suite bathrooms, and she decided to start there. Mac had headed in the other direction to Ariana's bedroom and bath. He carefully went through Ariana's belongings, looking for anything that could be of use.

Flack remained in the living room with Vivienne and her guest, whom she had introduced as Mark Coleman. Mr. Coleman had only glared at him before stepping into the entryway to contact their lawyer. While he waited, Flack looked around the room. It wasn't nearly as plush as he had expected, considering who had lived here. There was an HDTV, but it wasn't huge, and it wasn't the focal point of the room, either. A number of pictures were on the walls, and he'd only glanced at them the last time he'd been here, but now, he stopped to look. Most were prints by artists he'd never heard of, but there were also a few black-and-white photos of Vivienne and Ariana

"Those were taken last year," Vivienne said softly from where she sat. "At Thanksgiving. Her family was out of the country, and I couldn't go visit mine, so we had our own Thanksgiving dinner here. Derek took that picture of us. It was one of her favorites-"

"Darling, that's enough." Coleman returned from the entry and sat next to her on the sofa. "It's best if you don't say anything until James gets here." He gave Flack a challenging look. "I don't have to say anything until then, either."

Frowning, Flack was about to ask what they meant when Stella returned from Vivienne's room.

"You have a prescription for Paxil, Miss Harlow?" she asked, holding up an evidence bag that she'd just placed a prescription bottle in.

"Yes, my doctor put me on it. Um, for anxiety." She looked confused by the questions. "W-why?"

"It's part of the drug cocktail that was used to kill Ariana Hawthorne."

"What!" Vivienne shot up, surprised at the news. "You don't think I'd- I'd never do something to hurt--"

"Vivi, darling, be quiet until the lawyer gets here," Coleman cut in, reaching up to grab her arm.

"But, I-" She stopped protesting, her mouth shut tight in a grim line, shaking slightly with frustration. Finally, with a small noise, she sat back down next to her boyfriend.

By then Lindsay had returned from the kitchen, ruefully shaking her head even though she carried a large number of evidence bags. She hadn't found anything that would immediately implicate Harlow. Perhaps once it was back to the lab and tested, they would find what they were looking for. Mac wasn't empty handed, either, holding a similar prescription bottle as he returned from Arianna's room.

"I've found her Zoloft, it appears to be in order."

"Was that also-" Vivienne stopped herself before she finished her question. She took a deep, shuddering breath and wrapped her arms around herself. "Are you done now?"

"Depends. Do you prefer to talk here or at the precinct?"

"I've already asked our lawyer to meet us at your precinct," Coleman bit out angrily, leveling another glare at the detectives.

"Fine. Miss Harlow, you are welcome to ride with one of us if you'd like."

He wasn't surprised when Coleman stood angrily, though Vivienne's hand on his arm held him back. "I'll let Mark drive me."


	13. So quick bright things come to confusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Titania Falling  
> Chapter 13** \- _So quick bright things come to confusion  
> _

**Titania Falling  
Chapter 13** \- _So quick bright things come to confusion  
_

::

The CSIs went directly to the lab with the fruits of their labor, laying out everything they'd removed from the apartment on the light table, much to Adam's chagrin.

"You don't mean we have to process all of this as well? Do you?"

"Everything," Mac said, pulling his lab coat on. "We're checking samples for presence of _Hypericum perforatum_. And fingerprints," he added.

"I didn't find any St. John's Wort tea or supplements in the kitchen," Lindsay said as she continued to empty the crate of the bags she'd filled. "And I really don't expect we'll find any of their food contaminated - unless someone is trying to poison both women. But something would have happened to Harlow by now if they had, wouldn't it?"

"Most likely. That is something we can't rule out," Stella said. "If Vivienne Harlow didn't take any LSD, at the party she might not have had problems yet. Or she may have poisoned something of Ariana's with the St. John's Wort, not realizing there would be drugs at the party that could have triggered the reaction on their own."

Mac looked down at his phone, which had started its familiar beeping - Flack. "Start with both prescriptions and the things from Ariana's bathroom first - see if her toothpaste was poisoned and the like - then everything from the kitchen. I'll be down with Flack."

He really wasn't too surprised when Stella pulled rank and joined him in the elevator. "You might need some help."

"And Adam and Lindsay don't?" he half-joked, shaking his head in amusement.

"They can get one of the other techs to help them." She bumped her shoulder against his. "Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've gotten you alone for more than five seconds?"

"This morning?"

"In the middle of a hallway in a lab that has glass walls? That wasn't alone, that was a fishbowl."

"Then dinner tonight?" he suggested, refraining from reaching out to her. The problem with elevators, he'd learned already, was that you never really knew when they were going to stop and someone else would join you. "If we close the case."

"If we close the case," she agreed. "Of course, if not it'll probably be cold pizza in your office."

He pretended to stop and think it over as the elevator slowed to a halt. "I don't see what's wrong with that."

They were both grinning as they made their way to the interview room where Flack was waiting for them. To his credit, he just raised an eyebrow at their amusement. "I don't suppose you already have news for me?"

"You kidding?" Stella asked, "We barely got back to the lab. Lindsay and Adam will let us know if there's anything urgent."

He nodded, then tipped his head to the interview room. "Harlow's in there with her attorney and boyfriend."

Mark Coleman stepped out of the interview room when Flack entered, passing both Stella and Mac in the hallway - and sending both fierce glares - before they walked into the observation room. Flack seated himself across the table from Vivienne and her lawyer, who introduced himself as James Bowskill. Turning on the recorder and stating the date, time, and those present (though there was a video camera in the corner as well), Don started the interview.

"Miss Harlow, will you please explain what happened on the night of Miss Hawthorne's birthday?"

"We threw her a surprise birthday party. Ari is a huge fan of fairy-related things, so it had a fairy theme based on one of her favorite paintings. We - like I said, Mark, myself and some work colleagues - bought decorations, sent out invitations, and bought costumes so we could have a huge bash. Yes, I thought we had a permit, until we realized Derek forgot it. We still had the party; I was going to pay the fine if there was one. Mark and I left early, just after midnight. Ari was fine then. She'd spent some time talking with Derek - I gave her space since it looked like maybe they were trying to work things out. But later I saw her flirting with another guy, so your guess is as good as mine. Ari could be... fickle. But she was fine when I left, and I didn't kill her. I didn't slip her any of my pills, if that's what you're trying to imply."

"But you do have a prescription for Paxil."

"Yes, I do; my doctor put me on it for my anxiety attacks. I have a copy of the prescription if you need it." Her lawyer wordlessly passed a paper across the table. "But I knew better than to mix any medications - my doctor warned me not to. And I never allowed her to take any of mine."

"Never allowed." Flack sat back in his chair. "What does that mean?"

"Detective Flack, my client-"

"Oh shut up." She turned to Flack. "I am sick and tired of people telling me what to do, say, or feel. My best friend is dead. And no, I didn't kill her." She sighed, running her hand through her hair. "Ari asked me, I think it was last week, if she could try my Paxil. She was... well, she's been like this before, and the doctor upped her Zoloft dosage, but this time he didn't and she didn't think it was working anymore. I-I told her not to." A small wry grin crossed her face as she remembered the conversation, then her face fell and she sniffed, reaching down and pulling a tissue from her pocket. "It may have included a lecture on the dangers of mixing antidepressants. Result of dating Mark, I guess - he's in his residency at Queen of Mercy and gets very cross when I so much as drink alcohol after taking one of my pills. That's- that's one of the reasons we left the party early. Someone had shown up with drugs, and while I didn't intend to take any, I hate drugs and both he and Ari knew my position on them, so he thought it was best to get me out of there. Probably thought I'd blow up on someone." She hung her head, then looked up sadly. "I lost my older brother to heroin several years ago."

"So Ari _asked_ to use your antidepressants?"

"Yeah," she nodded, "but like I said, I told her no."

"Still, you knew how to kill her. And you did have the most to gain from her death. You'd get the promotion."

"Yes, we were both up for the promotion, but no one knew yet who was going to get it."

"The water cooler talk I heard suggested that would be Ari."

"If she stuck around. I know that Mr. Kline was stalling for time, to see what she'd do when she got her trust fund. I..." she sighed softly. "I'd accepted that it'd most likely go to her if she stayed, and I was happy for her. I know why groups want her instead of me. But she wasn't going to stay long - she'd promised me that. We both knew she'd get it because of her name. She told me that if she did, when she left the company she'd suggest me as her replacement. We made amends over everything that had happened during the candidacy for the promotion, and she even said she'd request me as her assistant, which would have given me an even better advantage for the position when she left because I would already know and have been working with the clients. I could step in and have a smoother transition than someone else."

"And I know that you're not making this up now because-"

"She was my friend! My best friend! We were like sisters! You said I had the most to gain. But I also had the most to lose. If given the choice between my friend or the promotion, I'd definitely take my friend. I don't care about the job. I just want Ari back!" She seemed as surprised over her outburst as both Flack and her lawyer were, crumbling into her chair and sobbing.

A soft knock on the door pulled Flack away from the interview. Lindsay stood in the hallway, and, from her animated expression, she had something. He turned to Mac and Stella first, though. "I believe her."

"I do, too," Stella said softly.

"What do you have Lindsay?" Mac asked, even as he nodded in agreement.

"Not what we were expecting. So far the GCMS is giving us nothing that suggests she was poisoned at home- toothpaste, mouthwash, it was clean. Adam's working on the food from their pantry now. But I checked both prescription bottles and they are what they're supposed to be. There are no fingerprints other than Ariana's on her Zoloft, but the Paxil is a different story - Ariana Hawthorne's fingerprints are all over it."

"That backs up Vivienne's story," Stella said, glancing at the room behind them. "She said Ari didn't think the Zoloft was working anymore. She could have just helped herself to her roommate's prescription.

"And there wasn't any St John's Wort in the apartment," Lindsay said, "no pills or tea that you could use to break down and add to something of Ariana's. So unless Miss Harlow got rid of it immediately - which is a possibility - the only other possibility is that it wasn't there in the first place. It was just at the party in the park."

"Which also gives credence to her story that she didn't do it," Mac said.

"I don't think it was there," Flack said. "I don't think she's our guy. You didn't see her when I told her Miss Hawthorne was dead, Mac. She nearly passed out. If given the choice between her roommate or the job, I really think she'd take the roommate, and there goes our motive."

"Then we're back to square one." Lindsay sighed; she'd really been hoping to solve this one today. The overtime was nice, but she'd prefer a little time at home with Danny instead.

"Do we have any other potential suspects?"

"Kyle Halmann," Flack said, frowning, "and the others up for the promotion, but he stood out. I met him while I was over at Kline and Associates - he got on the elevator with me."

"So he had potential motive," Mac supplied. "Was there anything else?"

"He freaked _me_ out. I was getting uncomfortable just standing in the elevator with him, and there's no way in hell I'd ever let Sam be alone with him." Flack shook his head. "Harlow said that he had been harassing women in the firm. And he was definitely obsessed with Hawthorne, he told me all about how wonderful she was."

"Enough so that he injected himself into the investigation," Stella said, crossing her arms and looking pensive. "Killers do that sometimes, trying to figure out how the investigation is going."

"Exactly. Between that, the harassment complaints and the fact he was on the promotion list, he's worth looking into." He shrugged. "I'm just saying. He's getting closer and closer to the top of my list. Tell me you've got something that could link him."

"Does he have any medical knowledge?" Mac asked as Flack's phone beeped.

"He's a med school drop-out and quite proud of that - he had to tell me all about it on the elevator."

"There's your connection," Stella said.

"That's not all." Flack looked down at his phone. "Wilson just texted me; our friend with the video returned to town."

"Whatever happened to Ariana Hawthorne happened at that party, most likely after Vivienne left," Stella said thoughtfully.

"And it's most likely on that video," Mac said.

"I'll go pick it up while you guys make the popcorn." Flack smirked, backing out of the way as Stella swatted at him with her file folder.


	14. Sever himself and madly sweep the sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Titania Falling  
> Chapter 14** \- _Sever himself and madly sweep the sky_

**Titania Falling  
Chapter 14** \- _Sever himself and madly sweep the sky_

::

"Okay, gang, what are we missing?" Danny asked as they stood in the trashed apartment.

"Good question," Hawkes said, looking around thoughtfully, trying to see if there was anything that stood out this time around. Unfortunately, to him it looked the same, still an apartment that had been tossed by someone looking for something.

"I mean," Danny said, looking over the gaming system and TV with awe, "I still can't believe the guy left this behind. This is some great stuff. And face it, with this mess anyone else wouldn't have known it was here in the first place."

"He was planning to come back and get it after you guys were done," Angell supplied, stepping into the bedroom. Still the same: closet that looked like it had thrown up all over the bedroom, drawers pulled out of the dresser and emptied on the floor. She knew that if she looked in the attached bath it would be more of the same, medicine chest emptied into the sink, towels pulled out of the cabinet and thrown into the tub.

"How did he think he was going to get away with that?" Hawkes asked from the kitchen, trying to make room for Danny to come and look. It barely fit one person, let alone two.

"Who knows." She shrugged as she returned to the main room. "Okay, you two are the CSIs - what are we looking for?"

"Why you asking us?" Danny retorted with a smirk. "You're the fancy homicide detective, I thought you were supposed to know."

Hawkes sighed, half in amusement and half in frustration. "Something that doesn't fit."

"This whole place doesn't fit," Danny complained, looking over at the TV again. "Who tosses a place and leaves the most expensive thing there?"

"We already know the answer to that," Hawkes said, gingerly stepping over a broken plate to return to the main room. Angell was looking into the hall closet, reaching up for something.

"No, the question is: who leaves the most expensive thing here but takes the video camera?" She held up the empty gray case she'd noticed the last time they were there, this time recognizing it for what it was. "This is what we missed. It's the only thing in the apartment that was put away. Empty, but on a shelf, like that was where it belonged."

"What the-" Danny started shaking his head, beginning to realize what Angell was implying. "Okay, fine. But we've got to go back to the pool. This can't be the only place where we're missing something."

::

The diving club was dark when they arrived, but Angell still had a key to the building and was able to let them in. It hadn't been released yet, so it remained empty as a tomb. "Clive Watkins said Andrew Landon was a diver."

"Yeah," Danny said, walking over to the empty pool where Landon had fallen to his death. "I looked him up. He was supposed to be considered one of the best in the competitive world of diving until he was caught cheating. Apparently there was even some suggestion he'd sabotaged other people's gear, putting drugs in their sports cream and whatnot, trying to fix competitions. Pretty nasty stuff, if you ask me."

"But he probably knew his way around a natatorium," Angell said.

"Uh-huh." Danny was shining his light up the stairs to one of the platforms. He was about to start up to see if there was anything up top that he'd missed when Hawkes spoke.

"And he would have known about the offices up there. Those with the windows overlooking the platforms are probably used to record dives during training." Hawkes pointed up at the set of large windows looking out over the pool."

"You don't think-"

"We should at least look."

The first problem was that the key they had been provided with wasn't a master for the whole building, so they had to wait for the director to arrive to let them in, and he wasn't particularly pleased about it. He reminded them that he'd checked all of the doors in the building and nothing besides the pool had been disturbed - until he opened the door for them.

"This isn't supposed to be set up!" he said, motioning to the recording equipment. "There isn't a competition for months; there's no reason for this to be out."

"Mr. Hempel," Danny interrupted, "are you certain that's your equipment?"

"Of course it-" He took a better look. "-isn't. No, that's not ours. Do you mean-"

"Thank you very much," Angell said, grasping him gently by the arm and leading him out. "Now why don't we leave Detectives Messer and Hawkes to do their job."

They carefully bagged the recording equipment after taking pictures of the entire room. A set of keys was sitting on the shelf next to the camera. "This is probably how he got in," Danny said as he bagged them, too. A windbreaker and matching pants lay in the corner beyond and were carefully collected, as well. Just to cover their tracks, they fingerprinted everything, picking up a few clear prints that Danny expected probably came from their victim. It was all starting to come together.

Angell was waiting at the entrance when they finished. "I didn't put it past him to try to get back in," she said by way of explanation. "Got anything?"

"Video camera and equipment that probably came from that case you found, clothes he probably wore, and a set of keys."

"Good. Let's go. I want to see what's on that tape."

They snagged the reconstruction room at the lab to watch it, since it was the one room that had actual _walls_, and if this was what they thought it was, well, then their vic deserved a little privacy and respect. Adam had helpfully moved the video equipment in there for them, but declined staying after learning what they thought it probably was. Not that they blamed him. Personally, Angell didn't particularly want to watch it, either.

None of then were surprised when the video started with their victim - alive and talking. Landon started by explaining about his gambling addiction, how it had ruined his career and his relationships. Then he'd started dabbling in drugs a few years ago, - trying to find a new high since he was not longer allowed to dive. Now he owed various bookies so much money that at least one had already tried to collected in blood.

"I told him I could pay him back, he just had to let me go get the money. It wasn't too hard to lose his goons, but when I got back to my place, I knew what I had to do. Someone else, another one of them, had torn it apart. Probably looking for what wasn't there. So I grabbed what I needed and came here."

He talked about his surprise run-in with his ex-girlfriend a few months prior, the one who'd broken up with him over the gambling. "She was the best thing that happened to me, but I screwed it up." He continued about how he didn't have insurance, so he didn't have to worry about any suicide clauses. He just wanted to make things right, or at least try to.

"This place brings back memories," he said to the camera. "I learned to dive here, back in the day. All of the divers on the team back then were given keys, and I kept mine when I was banned from diving."

He made a scoffing noise, shaking his head. "I figured they'd rekey the locks, especially when that new director started four years ago. It took me over a year to figure out that they didn't. I come sometimes, to clear my head, watch the water, I would practice my dives like I was still in the sport. I-I know it sounds stupid, going out this way. But diving was everything to me. And this- this is going to be the biggest, most important dive of my life."

He disappeared from view after that, though the camera kept recording. Hawkes was pretty certain he could hear Danny softly mutter, "He didn't" to the side.

Then Landon showed up again, this time on the highest of the platforms. And with neither pomp nor circumstance, he dived.


	15. Swift as a shadow, short as any dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Titania Falling  
> Chapter 15** \- _Swift as a shadow, short as any dream_

**Titania Falling  
Chapter 15** \- _Swift as a shadow, short as any dream_

::

"That explains how he landed the way he did," Hawkes said quietly as he removed the DVD from the player. "Whereas a jumper just dropping from the end of the platform would have had fractures to his legs and could have possibly survived the fall, by diving he hit headfirst and was most likely killed instantly."

"I can't believe he recorded himself committing suicide." Danny shook his head in disbelief.

"People do crazy things," Angell said.

"At least he explained a few things for us, like how he got in."

"Yeah." They all looked up when there was a knock on the door. Flack was outside, and they waved him in.

"Adam said the video equipment was down here." He held up the DVD that Bradley Miller had given him. The digital recorder and other stuff had already been dropped off with Adam in the AV lab, but for now they just wanted - no, needed - to take a look at what happened at the party.

"You have one, too?"

"Yeah, hopefully it'll show us what happened, Danno." Flack shook his head as the two CSIs headed out, the door swinging shut behind them. "You okay?"

"Yeah, fine." Angell sat on the edge of the table, and he quickly followed suit, wrapping an arm around her back. "Our vic. He committed suicide and taped the whole thing. The idiot."

"I take it he did it for all the wrong reasons."

"You want to know his reasoning? His ex-girlfriend had a baby. She found out she was pregnant after they broke up but didn't tell him until later. He was up to his ears in gambling debts, had bookies tracking him down and beating the crap out of him. So he takes every penny he had, steals from his super for more, cheats all of the bookies out of as much money as possible to put together a trust for the little girl. Then goes and commits suicide because there isn't anything left for him. He doesn't consider getting help or getting a job, he doesn't consider counseling, doesn't consider sticking around and being a part of his daughter's life. Just decides it's too much for him and jumps."

She sighs. "Sorry, it's just been one of those cases. First we think it's suicide, then it looks like murder, then it turns out to be suicide after all."

"Hey, at least you've closed it now."

"Yeah." She leaned against his shoulder, eyes closed. "I need a day off."

Flack laughed. "I'm pretty sure the captain doesn't have you on rotation tomorrow."

"I know, but the paperwork."

"It can wait another day." They both heard voices out in the hall and stood, stepping apart. "Now, unless you want to get roped into this case, I'm kicking you out. Go home and get some rest."

"Later?"

"Later."

Mac was about to open the door when she did, looking a bit surprised to see her there. Behind him, Stella and Lindsay were coming down the hall. "Angell, Danny said you had a video in your case, too."

"Recorded suicide note," she said, stepping out into the hall. "At least we now know what happened. Case closed."

"Yeah." Lindsay looked down at her hands; Angell looked about as rough as both Danny and Hawkes had when they came by the office. "At least it's closed now."

"Flack mentioned you had a video with yours?"

"Partygoer had a camera. At this point it's all we have left." They both looked into the reconstruction room where Stella, Mac, and Flack were waiting.

"Good luck. Maybe you'll close yours tonight as well."

Lindsay nodded as she joined them in the room. There were enough chairs for all for of them, but Flack hopped up to sit on the table. Seeing everyone in position, Mac pressed play.

"Wow," Stella said, "talk about the tacky costumes."

"It's what our girl wanted," Flack reminded her, looking around. "Hey, I thought you guys were getting the popcorn."

Lindsay couldn't help but make a snickering snort, eyes glued to the screen as they watched all of the guests at the party walk by.

"Wait, was that-?" Stella reached across Mac for the remote.

"Was that what?"

"The Waterhouse painting of the Hamadryad; I think there was-"

"Yes, there was," Flack interrupted. "And the tailor was right in wondering where she was going to put the rest of her body. You can go back and assuage your curiosity later."

"I'm sorry, but she had no business wearing that costume."

"Stella." Mac's voice was a cross between amusement and exasperation.

"There's Ariana," Lindsay said before it could go any further.

Wearing her pink fairy costume, Ariana Hawthorne was obviously the life of the party. She stopped and talked with everyone there, taking a plate of food offered by one person and a glass of punch from someone else. Whoever the cameraman had been, he hadn't kept his eyes - or the camera - off of her. She even came and spoke with him, giggling and obviously drunk. As she slid away, off to talk to another groupie, someone walked up and offered her a cup.

"Isn't that--" Flack paused mid-sentence, already knowing the answer, as the scene played out on the screen.

They watched as she greeted her friends, drinking what one of them offered her, before showing them around the party in the clearing. She seemed to be especially pleased with the arbor and other decorations, gesturing wildly to them while she talked. Eventually she saw some new guests who had arrived, going over to shower them with hugs and kisses as well. It was obvious that she was enjoying herself.

The party went on for some time after that, all four detectives determined to watch it in its entirety even though they now had a pretty good idea as to what had happened. Just as Vivienne said, she left around midnight with Mark, having not passed any food or drink to her friend. The drugs had turned up a little before, and Ariana was shown placing the blotter from Picasso in her mouth. Just before one the video stopped, having recorded everything but the death.

"Bradley Miller said that he left before one, so he was gone before Ariana collapsed. He left for Pittsburgh first thing in the morning for a meeting; didn't know about the death until he got my message about the video."

"Vivienne was telling the truth about not drugging Ariana," Lindsay said quietly.

"But he would have known what he was doing and that it could look like an accidental overdose."

"He may not have actually been trying to kill her," Stella said softly, remembering what Hawkes had explained to her about serotonin syndrome. "He may have just been trying to make her sick."

"Doesn't matter," Mac said gravely. "she still ended up dead."

Flack already had his phone out, stepping into the hall to make some calls. After several minutes, he returned. "I just spoke with his lawyer. He is currently indisposed, but he'll be happy to stop by in the morning to answer any of our questions about the party."

"Willingly?"

"I may have forgotten to mention just what questions we needed answered, so it's doubtful he realizes he's a suspect. And in case he does, I've already arranged for someone to keep an eye on him over night. It's late enough now that even if we brought him in we wouldn't be able to question him until morning."

"Which would give him time to come up with a story," Stella said softly.

"It's better to take him by surprise tomorrow," Mac finished.


	16. To you our minds we will unfold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Titania Falling  
> Chapter 16** \- _To you our minds we will unfold_

**Titania Falling  
Chapter 16** \- _To you our minds we will unfold_

::

Mark Coleman and his lawyer - the same James Bowskill as before - were waiting together in the interview room when both Flack and Mac entered the next morning. "Morning, Mark. How are you doing today?"

"Fine. Now please, tell me why I'm here. Neither Vivienne nor I had anything to do with Ariana's death, and I refuse to give you anything to try to implicate her. Like Vivienne told you, we both left the party before anything happened. I didn't even know that Ari was dead until Vivi called me."

"Oh, don't worry, we know Vivienne didn't kill Ariana," Flack said jovially, leaning forward in his chair.

"It must have surprised you - didn't it - to hear she was dead," Mac said, quietly. "You didn't intend to kill her, did you?"

"Of course he wasn't, Mac," Flack answered for him. "He didn't know about the Paxil, or that she'd be taking LSD later." He turned to Mark. "You just thought she was going to have a mild reaction, didn't you?"

"I don't know what you're going on about. I don't have to answer these questions." He turned to his lawyer. "Tell them."

"My client is right-"

"Your client murdered Ariana Hawthorne," Mac interrupted, gesturing to the observation window. Stella entered the room, pushing the lab's video cart in front of her. "And we have it all on tape."

Flack leaned back in his chair, eyes on Coleman as Stella started the video. He had seen it several times the night before - they had re-watched it after he called to set up the interview, wanting to make certain that they knew exactly what they saw. They'd even had Adam check for any signs that the original on the recorder hadn't been tampered with. A look of disbelief crossed Mark Coleman's face as the video played out.

_"Markie!" Ariana somehow managed a cross between a giggle and a squeal as she greeted him with a huge hug. "Thank you so much for the party!" _

_"Anything for my girl's best friend." He handed her the glass as he spoke, and she immediately took a sip. _

_"Mmmm, what is this? It isn't the punch - maybe a mixed drink?" _

_"Just some Ambrosia, made specially for the fairy of the night." _

_"You're too silly." She giggled again, taking another drink of the mixture before turning to greet Vivienne in a similar fashion.  
_

"Your little 'ambrosia', Markie," Flack said, "That's what killed her."

"Serotonin syndrome isn't something to mess with," Mac asked softly, "is it?"

"What? No." Mark looked away from the video, his demeanor crumbling. "It wasn't supposed to kill her, okay? Just make her sick."

"Mark-"

"No." He turned back to Mac and Flack. "Vivi didn't know anything about this, okay? I did this for her. She knew she was going to get passed over on that promotion, just because her last name wasn't Hawthorne. Just because of her name she wasn't good enough, and someone who only excelled at stealing other people's ideas and work was going to get it. But I didn't mean for her to die, I just wanted to scare her."

"Scare her? By overdosing her on prescription medications? By altering her mental faculties, making her anxious and nervous, possibly even paranoid? Then there's the muscle twitching and blood pressure fluctuations that would have made her dizzy. Finally, there're the seizures, because her body temperature has gotten so high her body it's trying to find a way to regulate-"

"Stop!" Mark shouted, standing and glaring at Mac.

"And you just wanted to scare her."

"You didn't know Ari. She always talked about how life was short. That's what she'd always say. This job was just until she got her trust fund money. She wasn't going to stick around long after that, maybe a year or two. She wanted to travel, to do relief work, this was just for show until she got the money to follow those dreams. I thought that if she got sick, if she ended up in the hospital, then she'd have her wake up call and she'd take the money and go do those things."

"And Vivienne would get the job."

"Yes."

"That's the thing, Mark. Life is short. And you shortened Ariana's."


	17. You shall know all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Titania Falling  
> ****Epilogue** \- _You shall know all, that you are like to know_

**Titania Falling  
****Epilogue** \- _You shall know all, that you are like to know_

**AN**: I want to give a huge Thank You to the Diamond Sorceress for the wonderful beta job on this and helping to keep my commas in line (among other things).

::

It was nearly noon by the time Flack had gotten Coleman through booking. He had broken down and confessed everything: how he had drugged Ariana, why - even how - he had calculated the amount of herb in the drink he'd offered her. Don might have been a little more convinced that he hadn't intended to kill her if he didn't seem more remorseful over how upset Vivienne was than he was over Ariana's death. Coleman had all but begged them to explain to Miss Harlow that he had done this for her.

The first thing he noticed when he entered the squad room was Angell at her desk, speaking with a woman holding a squirming infant. He frowned, certain it was her day off. Then he noticed the person waiting at his desk, her face a mixture of sadness and apprehension.

"Miss Harlow," he said as he approached her. "How may I help you?"

"I got a message from Mark this morning, that you had more questions for him?" She looked around the room as her comment turned into to a question, obviously looking for her boyfriend. "I-I hadn't heard from him since and just--"

"Ma'am," he said gently, wishing he wasn't the one to break the news to her. "Mr. Coleman has confessed to the murder of Ariana Hawthorne."

"Wha--?" She sat heavily in the chair next to the side of his desk. He pulled his chair out and over to sit opposite her,waiting for her to continue. Her eyes were closed, and she shook her head slightly as she processed his words. Finally, she looked back at him. "Mark? D-did he really do it? Or did he confess to try to protect me? I didn't do it; I didn't kill Ariana, but I don't want him going to prison because he thinks I did--"

"He had the knowledge necessary, Miss Harlow. And the motive."

"Motive? Why?"

"The promotion that both you and Miss Hawthorne were up for. He wanted you to have it instead of her."

"But Ari and I had that agreement. It wouldn't have mattered if she got it - the job would have been mine when she left. To kill her over that... How could he?" Her voice grew louder, concern quickly bleeding over to anger.

"Mr. Coleman didn't intend to kill Miss Hawthorne, he just wanted to make her sick and frighten her."

"Frighten her?" Her eyes flashed in anger as everything her boyfriend had done set in. "He was going to frighten her? Why that scum-sucking--"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." He put his hands out, preventing her from standing. "He's made a full confession and will be going to prison. There isn't any need to be making any threats against him, okay?"

She took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay. I'm sorry. I just--" She sniffled, pulling a tissue from her purse and wiping her eyes. "It's hard not having her around. I keep expecting her to come help with dinner or suggest we stay up all night watching movies or something. It's not right that she's gone. And all because of that damned job. If I had known it would lead to this, I never would have applied for it."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"So am I." She sighed deeply, then stood. "Thank you, Detective, for finding out what happened to her."

They shook hands and she left, arms wrapped around her body as if for support. He kicked his chair back over to his desk and sat down, running his hands down his face. He hated talking with bereaved friends and family, and the circumstances of this case just made it even worse.

There was movement nearby, and he looked up as Angell approached and sat on the side of his desk. "What happened to your day off?"

"You didn't hear? Thacker shattered his ankle this morning chasing after a perp."

"Ouch."

"Tell me about it. The Captain called me in to finish his shift, though from what I've heard from the resident medical experts, we're all going to be covering his shifts for a while."

"That bad?"

"Apparently it was a pretty epic break. Hammerback's trying to get his hands on copies of the x-rays to display in autopsy."

Don wrinkled his nose. "I don't even want to know."

"Then I probably shouldn't warn you that Messer's already planning the crutches races for when Thacker gets back? Or that he and Cooper are running a pool on just when that'll be?"

He had pulled his keyboard over and opened his email as she talked, so he wasn't surprised to see a message with the subject of POOL in his inbox.

"How epic was the break?"

"Two plates," she said, ticking details off on her fingers as she reeled through them, "six pins, and fourteen screws."

"Definitely four months at the earliest. Thacker'll be going crazy." He quickly shot an email back to Messer with his bet, then turned back to Jess. "Who was that you were talking to?"

"The suicide we closed yesterday - his ex-girlfriend. He doesn't have any family, so she's the one who came to claim the body."

"She doing okay?"

"About as okay as she can be. She said she has some family in Jersey she's going to go stay with." She shoved her hands down into her pockets as she spoke. "She was pretty shook up over it. She'd been hoping he'd get cleaned up."

"Instead, her baby's never going to know her father."

"Yeah." She pushed off from his desk, pushing thoughts of the case out of her mind. It was closed; they'd figured out what happened, and dwelling on it would only serve to distract her from her other cases. She changed the subject. "You had lunch yet?"

"Nah, just closed my case." He glanced up at her. "Sandwiches at O'Malleys?"

"Sounds great," she said as the squad room doors opened behind them. Hawkes and Messer burst through, animatedly discussing something, with Monroe not far behind and looking highly amused. She tipped her head at the incoming CSIs. "Up for company?"

"Yo, guys," Don called out, logging out of his computer as he stood. "We're hitting O'Malleys for lunch. You coming?"

"Sure," Hawkes said, joining them by the desk. "I haven't eaten yet. You two?"

"Yeah," Lindsay said, pulling out her phone. "I'll see if Stella and Mac want to meet us there."

"Tell 'em to hurry," Danny said, bouncing on his toes. "Otherwise we won't beat the lunch crowd."

Lindsay nodded as they started for the doors, quickly explaining the plan to whoever answered. They were out on the sidewalk when she hung up. "Stella said they'll meet us there. She's going to try to drag Adam out of the lab, too."

The others were about five minutes behind them, joining them at the large table they'd grabbed just as the waitress was coming for their order. After a quick round of everyone getting their usual sandwich, the conversation quickly turned to Thacker, his injury, his caseload - both he and Jess agreed that they didn't want to end up with a few he'd been working - and how soon he'd be back.

As the conversation turned into a friendly argument between Messer and Hawkes as to just how quickly broken bones healed, Flack leaned back in his chair shaking his head. He caught Angell's eye - Lindsay and Stella had cornered her at the other end of the table and were quizzing her about something, and he had a pretty good idea what - and shared an amused grin.

Around them the lunch rush raged on, cops, bankers, lawyers, and shop clerks trying to get their food and go go go. But for the next hour they were going to take advantage of their time off, with a slice of laughter and a side of camaraderie. The next case could wait until they got back to the station.


End file.
